mtmtmmmtmmMmmwumtt 


LIBRARY  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 

PRINCETON,  N.  J. 


Purchased  by  the  Hamill  Missionary  Fund. 


BV  4915  .R62  1922 
Robinson,  F.  A.  1874- 
Mastered  men 


MASTERED  MEN 
J\  A.  ROBINSON,  B.A. 


MASTERED  MEN 


BY 

F.  A.  ROBINSON,  B.A. 


/$\W  0F  Hj^ 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 

REV.  CHARLES  W.  GORDON 
(RALPH   CONNOR ) 


NEW   X5T    YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT^    1922, 
BY    GEORGE    H.    DORAN    COMPANY 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 


INTRODUCTION 

This  book  has  this  virtue  among  others,  that  it 
is  a  true  rescript  of  events  that  have  happened  in 
the  author's  personal  experience.  It  is  made  up 
of  human  documents  that  deal  with  matters  of 
surpassing  interest.  The  book  tells  in  simple 
and  vivid  style  the  story,  always  fascinating  and 
thrilling,  of  the  triumph  of  the  Gospel  in  the 
souls  of  men.  It  is  a  heartening  book  and  a  mov- 
ing. It  will  bring  courage  and  hope  to  those  who 
read  it,  and  awaken  in  their  hearts  a  deeper  pas- 
sion to  share  in  God's  great  mission  to  men. 

The  new  west  is  full  of  the  broken  driftwood 
of  humanity,  showing  the  marks  of  the  attrition 
of  time  and  conflict  and  defeat — good  stuff  it  is, 
but  waste  and  lost.  This  book  tells  of  its  salvage 
to  the  infinite  joy  of  men,  and  to  the  glory  of 
God. 

The  author  has  the  further  distinction  of  hav- 
ing seen  himself  a  large  part  of  the  events  he 
describes. 

The  book  will  do  good  wherever  it  goes. 

Charles  W.  Gordon 
Winnipeg,  Canada.       Olph  connor) 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

"Mastered  Men"  is  a  new  edition  of 
"Trial-Tales  of  Western  Canada,"  con- 
taining the  material  of  the  original  vol- 
ume with  additional  sketches.  The  new 
title  has  been  chosen  as  being  more  sig- 
nificant of  the  underlying  theme  of  the 
book. 

F.  A.  R. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  OLD     KEN'S     ROUND-UP      .....        r„       .  11 

II  CHARL ww        •        i.i        .  22 

III  THE  BANNER  MINES    ........  32 

IV  THE    "HOP" 38 

v  "thy  touch  has  still  its  ancient  power"  51 

vi  "if  a  man  be  overtaken"      ......  64 

vii  the  superintendent's  visit 76 

viii  the  cookee .  88 

ix  the  regeneration  of  bill  sanders  .      .      .  97 

x  the   snake-room .      .  106 

xi  the  bush  fire 129 

xii  ruth  and  the  prodigal    .      .      .      .      .      .  158 

XIII  THE    CORD    OF    LOVE r.i        .  189 

xiv  nell's  home-going 196 

XV  THE    HERMIT 207 

XVI  THE    MAKING    OF    ROSS    K ;.         .  243 


Vll 


MASTERED   MEN 


MASTERED  MEN 

CHAPTER  I 

OLD    KEN'S    KOUND-UP 

Old  Ken  was  "down  on  his  luck."  For  well- 
nigh  fifty  years  he  had  "gone  the  pace"  in  a 
district  where  certain  men  say  glibly,  "there's 
no  God  west  of  the  Rockies."  The  old  pros- 
pector had  been,  according  to  those  who  knew 
him  best,  in  one  of  three  conditions  for  some 
years.  He  was  either  "getting  drunk,  drunk,  or 
sobering  up."  And  yet  in  spite  of  his  weakness 
and  sin,  and  in  spite  of  the  curses  he  got,  there 
was  no  more  popular  man  in  the  whole  camp 
than  Old  Ken,  although  likely  he  was  not  con- 
scious of  it.  One  of  the  miners  had  once  ex- 
pressed a  conviction  about  Ken  that  was  dan- 
gerously popular.  It  was  at  the  time  Frank 
Stacey's  mother  died,  in  the  East,  and  Frank  had 
not  "two  bits"  to  his  credit.  As  might  have  been 
expected,  it  was  Old  Ken  who  started  the  hat 
to  wire  that  Frank  was  leaving  on  the  next  train, 

and  to  see  that  he  had  "enough  of  the  needful 

11 


12  MASTERED  MEN 

to  do  the  decent  thing."  "It's  his  last  chance, 
boys,"  said  Ken,  as  he  made  the  rounds  during 
the  noon  hour.  "I  got  twenty-two  dollars  since 
eleven  o'clock,  so  I  guess,  with  what  you  fellers 
is  a-going  to  do,  the  old  camp's  on  the  job,  as 
usual,  when  a  chap  like  Frank  wants  to  pay  his 
last  respects."  There  was  some  mystery  about 
those  twenty- two  dollars  until  Andy  the  bar- 
tender told  how  Old  Ken  had  "got  it  out  of  the 
boss"  on  the  solemn  promise  that  for  two  weeks 
he  would  "work  like  a  Texas  steer"  without 
touching  a  cent  until  the  debt  of  thirty  dollars, 
minus  eight  for  board,  was  discharged.  Then  it 
was  that  one  of  the  boys  expressed  himself  thus 
about  Ken:  "By  gosh,  fellers,  he's  white  clear 
through,  that  same  old  soak  is,  when  there's  any 
trouble  on.  He's  a  pile  decenter  than  his  thirsty 
old  carcase'll  let  him  be." 

On  a  particular  morning  some  months  ago 
the  old  prospector  stood  at  the  little  station  a 
mile  or  so  away  from  the  camp  centre.  The 
"mixed"  was  winding  her  way  slowly  around 
the  curves  of  the  summit  of  the  Rockies.  From 
the  windows  of  the  solitary  passenger  car  a 
young  man  looked  somewhat  anxiously  across 
the  valley  below.  A  few  shacks  nestled  among 
the  poplar  brush,  and  in  the  distance  an  un- 
painted  building  stood,  with  distinct  outline, 
towering   against   the   dark  background   of  the 


OLD  KEN'S  ROUND-UP  13 

mountain  range  opposite.  The  young  man  knew 
well  enough,  from  his  work  among  the  miners 
and  loggers,  that  yonder  building  was  as  a  moral 
cancer  eating  out  the  best  life  of  the  community. 
The  outlook  was  not  bright,  but  he  was  on  the 
King's  Business,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  in  his 
care  the  mightiest  thing,  and  the  greatest 
remedy,  the  world  knows  of. 

Alone  he  stepped  off  the  train,  and  being  the 
only  arrival  he  received  the  entire  benefit  of 
Old  Ken's  curious  but  not  unfriendly  gaze.  The 
new-comer,  who  was  conducting  special  services 
at  selected  mining  and  lumbering  camps  that 
were  considered  especially  needy,  looked  around 
for  a  district  missionary  who  was  expected  to 
act  as  his  pilot  for  a  few  days.  No  one  but  Old 
Ken  and  the  station  agent  were  in  sight,  so  after 
friendly  greetings  to  the  former  the  young 
preacher  made  known  the  purpose  of  his  visit. 
Old  Ken  listened  courteously.  "Well,  stranger, 
you've  hit  the  right  spot  all  right;  we  kin  stand 
the  gospel  in  big  doses  here  for  sure;  most  of  us 
is  whiskey  soaks  or  bums,  and  some  of  us  is  both. 
I  wish  you  luck,  partner,  but  I'm  feared  most 
of  us  is  incurable.  Yes,  partner,  I'm  feared 
you've  come  too  late,  too  late." 

The  Frenchman  who  was  hotel-keeper,  pro- 
fessional gambler,  lumberman  and  mine-owner, 
was  not  enthusiastic  about  allowing  the  sky-pilot 


14  MASTERED  MEN 

to  board  in  his  notorious  hotel  and  gambling  den, 
but  eventually  accommodation  was  secured. 

The  dance-hall  was  procured  for  the  services, 
and  Ken  volunteered  the  information  that  the 
preacher  wouldn't  likely  be  disturbed,  because 
there  were  only  four  women  left  in  the  camp, 
and  he  added,  "two  of  'em  can  dance  like  ele- 
phants and  one's  got  ingrowing  toe-nails  or  some- 
thing else,  so  there's  only  one  on  duty,  and  that 
ain't  enough  variety  for  a  good  hop." 

A  few  days  after  the  services  commenced,  Old 
Ken  managed  to  replenish  his  treasury  by  the 
fortunate  desire  on  the  part  of  two  men  to  get 
a  haircut.  The  old  man  boasted  that  he  knew 
how  to  do  most  things.  "I'm  never  idle, 
preacher,"  he  said  with  a  wink;  "when  I  ain't 
doing  something  I'm  a-doing  nothin',  so  I'm  al- 
ways a-doing  something  you  see." 

No  sooner  were  the  locks  shorn  than  the  old 
man  made  his  way  to  the  bar-room.  He  was 
emerging  from  his  favourite  haunt  when  the 
preacher  met  him.  "  'Tain't  no  use  pretending 
I'm  what  I  ain't,  preacher,"  he  said  after  a  few 
minutes'  conversation.  "I'm  an  old  fool  and  I 
know  it,  but  what  does  it  matter?    Who  cares'?" 

"It  matters  a  good  deal  to  you,  Ken,"  the 
preacher  replied  quietly,  "and  there  are  some  of 
us  who  care.  Ken,  if  you  would  give  God  as  big 
a  place  in  your  life  as  you've  given  whiskey  there 


OLD  KEN'S  ROUND-UP  15 

wouldn't  be  room  for  the  things  that  have  made 
you  call  yourself  an  old  fool.  I  know  He  could 
make  a  mighty  good  man  of  you,  Ken." 

"Thank  you  kindly,  preacher,  but  you  don't 
know  me:  I'm  the  hardest  old  guy  in  this  coun- 
try; the  fellers  around  here  think  they  can  go 
it  some,  but  let  'em  all  get  as  full  as  they  kin 
hold  and  I'll  take  as  much  as  any  one  of  'em 
and  then  put  twelve  glasses  more  on  top  of  that 
to  keep  it  kind  of  settled,  and  then  pile  the  whole 
gang  under  the  table  and  walk  out  like  a  gentle- 
man. Yes,  sir,  I  kin  do  it;  and  if  a  feller's  as 
big  as  a  house  I'll  whittle  him  down  to  my  size 
and  lick  him.  Yer  intentions  are  good,  partner, 
but  you're  about  fifty  years  late  on  this  job." 

The  days  allotted  to  the  mission  were  rapidly 
passing  away,  and  while  not  a  few  had  given 
evidence  of  seeing  "the  vision  splendid,"  there 
were  some  after  whom  "the  little  preacher,"  as 
he  had  come  to  be  generally  spoken  «of  in  the 
camp,  greatly  longed. 

Coming  down  the  stairs  one  day  he  saw  Old 
Ken  standing  with  his  back  to  the  stair  rail. 
Putting  his  hand  on  the  old  man's  shoulder  he 
entered  into  conversation. 

"Ken,  you  haven't  been  to  one  of  the  services 
yet,  and  I  want  you  to  come  to-night." 

"Lord  bless  you,  preacher,  if  I  went  to  a  re- 


16  MASTERED  MEN 

ligious  meeting  the  roof  'ud  fall  in  for  sure,  and 
I  don't  want  to  bust  up  the  dance-hall.'* 

But  the  little  preacher  was  not  in  a  mood  to 
be  "jollied"  that  day.  "Ken,"  he  continued, 
"I'd  like  you  to  give  God  a  chance.  Do  you 
know,  I  like  the  look  of  you,  and " 

The  old  prospector  cut  the  sentence  short, 
straightened  up,  and  gazed  appreciatively  into 
the  speaker's  eyes.  "What's  that  you  said, 
preacher?  What's  that  you  said1?  You  like  the 
look  o'  me!  Well,  siree,  that's  the  decentest 
thing  that's  been  said  to  me  in  thirty  years !  Yes, 
sir,  it  is:  I'm  treated  like  a  yaller  dog  around 
here;  but  you  speak  decently  to  a  yaller  dog,  he'll 
wag  his  tail.  He  likes  it,  you  know.  Say, 
preacher,  when  you  need  me  just  you  whistle  and 
I'm  on  the  job!" 

"I  take  your  offer,  old  man,"  said  the  preacher. 
"I've  been  here  for  some  time  and  I've  heard  a 
good  deal  that  I  didn't  want  to  hear.  Some  of 
you  fellows  have  been  cursing  pretty  nearly  day 
and  night  since  I  came.  I  didn't  want  to  hear 
it,  but  I  couldn't  get  away  from  it.  I've  heard 
the  boys;  it's  only  fair  they  should  hear  me. 
Ken,  you  round  them  up  and  bring  them  to  the 
dance-hall." 

Ken's  hand  was  extended.  "Here's  my  hand 
on  it,  preacher;  I'm  yer  man.    If  the  boys  ain't 


OLD  KEN'S  ROUND-UP  17 

there  you'll  see  my  head  in  a  sling  in  the 
morning." 

At  7:30  Ken  organized  himself  into  an  Invi- 
tation Committee.  There  were  rumours  that  he 
even  brushed  his  coat.  At  any  rate,  at  7:45  he 
stood  at  the  door  of  the  gambling  den,  and  with 
an  air  of  unusual  importance  he  succeeded  in 
getting  silence  long  enough  to  tell  "the  boys" 
that  there  was  "a  religious  show  on  in  the  dance- 
hall."       "The    procession    will    form    in    ten 

minutes,"  he  continued,  "and  every man  in 

this  place  has  got  to  be  in  it."  A  few  laughed; 
some  cursed  at  the  interruption,  and  others  were 
so  engrossed  in  their  game  that  they  appeared 
not  to  have  heard. 

In  a  few  minutes  Ken  entered  the  bar-room 
and  started  his  round-up.  After  telling  one  or 
two  quietly  that  it  was  "up  to  him"  to  get  the 
boys  to  the  religious  show,  he  made  his  procla- 
mation.   "Come  out  of  this,  you fellers,  and 

come  up  to  the dance-hall  and  give  the 

little  preacher  a fair  show,  or  I'll  kick  the 

hide  off  you."    The  writer  has  no  apology 

to  make  for  blasphemy  either  in  the  East  or 
West,  but  like  classical  music,  to  some  ears,  Old 
Ken's  blasphemous  language  was  not  so  bad  as 
it  sounded. 

After  the  old  man  had  brought  into  use  all 
his  remarkable  reserve  of  Western  mining  camp 


18  MASTERED  MEN 

vocabulary,  there  was  only  one  man  besides  the 
bar- tender  who  failed  to  join  the  procession. 

The  services  had  become  well  advertised 
throughout  the  entire  district  by  this  time,  so 
that  when  Old  Ken  arrived  with  his  company  the 
little  hall  was  fairly  well  filled.  But  the  old 
man  was  "going  to  see  this  thing  through,"  and 
so,  despite  the  protestations  that  almost  upset  the 
gravity  of  the  preacher  conducting  the  prelimi- 
nary song  service,  the  gang  was  coaxed  and 
forced  to  the  front  seats.  Ken  directed  the  seat- 
ing operations  in  a  way  that  suggested  his  owner- 
ship of  the  entire  place.  In  a  stage  whisper  he 
instructed  the  boys  to  "get  a  squint  at  the 
preacher's  hair."  With  pride  he  continued, 
"mighty  good  cut  that,  I  performed  the  opera- 
tion this  afternoon." 

At  the  close  of  the  service  he  came  to  the 
platform.      "Say,    preacher,    that   was   a   great 

bunch.    There  ain't  a (excuse  me,  preacher, 

I  forgot  you  don't  swear),  but  say,  there  ain't 
a  man  of  'em  but's  done  time.  I'll  tell  you, 
preacher,  we'll  run  this  show  together.  I'll  round 
'em  up  and  you  hit  'em";  then  with  a  swing  of 
his  big  arm  he  added,  "and  hit  'em  hard.  See 
here,  preacher,  you  take  a  tip  from  me;  us  old 
sinners  don't  want  to  listen  to  none  of  yer  stroke- 
'em-down-easy  preachers;  we  wants  a  feller 
what' 11  tell  us  we're  d fools  to  be  hood- 


OLD  KEN'S  ROUND-UP  19 

winked  by  hitting  the  pace,  and  what'll  help  us 
to  get  up  after  he  shows  us  we're  down." 

A  few  nights  later  the  preacher  had  Ken's 
"bunch"  particularly  in  view  as  he  delivered  his 
message.  Near  the  close  he  asked  during  one  of 
those  times  of  reverent  silence  that  may  be  felt 
but  not  described:  "Are  not  some  of  you  men 
tired  of  going  the  pace?  You  know  it  doesn't 
pay.  Many  a  time  you  curse  yourselves  for  being 
fools,  and  yet  you  go  back  to  the  old  ways  that 
blast  your  life.  Men !  God  knows  how  some  of 
you  are  tempted,  and  He  is  ready  to  help.  His 
Son  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners.  He 
stood  in  the  face  of  the  fiercest  temptations,  and 
with  the  command  of  a  conqueror  He  said,  'Get 
thee  behind  Me.'  And,  Men!  He  is  ready  to 
stand  alongside  of  every  passion-torn  man  to-day 
and  to  help  him  to  overcome.  Isn't  there  some 
man  here  to-night  who  wants  to  do  the  decent 
thing,  and  who  will  accept  His  offer  of  help  in 
the  biggest  fight  any  man  has*?" 

The  words  were  simple  and  commonplace 
enough,  but  the  One  who  uses  stumbling  lips  was 
present  that  night.  Unexpectedly  one  man  arose, 
pulling  himself  up  by  the  back  of  the  seat  in 
front  of  him — a  sin-marred  man,  trembling  as  a 
result  of  daily  dissipation — and  said  in  a  muf- 
fled voice,  "I  want  to  do  the  decent."  A  con- 
firmed gambler  not  far  away  stood  up  and  merely 


20  MASTERED  MEN 

said,  "Me  too,  Bob."  Another,  in  a  tone  of  de- 
spair, cried,  "God  and  me  knows  there's  nothing 
in  this  kind  of  life !  Oh  the  d ,  d whis- 
key, it's  ruined  me."  Late  into  the  night  the 
preacher  walked  along  the  trail  with  one  of  these 
sin-wrecked  men;  but  the  transformation  of  that 
life  and  other  lives  must  constitute  a  separate 
story. 

A  few  days  before  the  mission  closed  Old  Ken 
came  to  the  preacher  and  announced  his  intended 
departure  from  the  camp.  "You  see,  stranger, 
the  camp's  pretty  quiet,  and  I  ain't  a-making 
enough  money  to  buy  a  dress  for  a  humming- 
bird. I  ain't  got  the  wherewithal  for  a  ticket, 
but  if  I  strike  the  right  kind  of  conductor  I  guess 
I'll  make  the  grade.  You  see  they  can't  put  a 
feller  off  between  stations  in  this  country.  So 
I'll  get  one  station  along  anyway,  and  if  they 
chuck  me  off  I'll  wait  for  the  next  train,  and  a 
few  chucks  and  I'll  get  to  N anyway." 

The  following  morning  prospector  and 
preacher  walked  together  down  the  railway  track 
to  the  little  station.  A  farewell  word  was 
spoken,  and  a  farewell  token  slipped  into  the  big 
hard  hand.  Old  Ken  stood  a  moment  or  two  on 
the  steps  of  the  car.  There  was  a  far-away  look 
in  the  old  man's  eyes  as  he  gazed  in  the  direction 
of  the  distant  Cascade  range.  "Good-bye, 
preacher.     Yes,  maybe,  maybe  we'll  strike  the 


OLD  KEN'S  ROUND-UP  21 

main  trail  that  leads  home.  I  hope  so — God 
knows — maybe  it  ain't  too  late  for  me  yet.  I 
kinder  think  lately  that  God  wants  Old  Ken. 
Good-bye,  preacher;  God  bless  you." 

Three  months  later  "the  little  preacher"  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  a  British  Columbia  miner. 
One  paragraph  may  be  quoted  here:     "Poor  old 

Ken  was  burned  to  death  in  a  hotel  fire  in  S 

three  weeks  ago.  He  was  the  kindest  old  man  I 
ever  met,  and  as  long  as  I  live  I  shall  thank  God 
for  the  night  he  rounded  us  up  and  brought  us 
to  your  meeting  in  the  dance-hall." 


CHAPTER  II 

CHAEL 

When  Charlie  Rayson  passed  out  of  the 
dance-hall  in  the  little  mountain  mining  town 
a  few  nights  after  Old  Ken's  round-up,  he  was 
on  the  border-line  between  despair  and  hope. 
Was  there  any  chance*?  For  years  he  had  ap- 
parently worked  with  the  logging  gang  only  that 
he  might  give  full  rein  to  the  lusts  that  devoured 
him;  and  if  he  remained  in  the  bush  the  whole 
winter  it  was  with  an  impatience  for  the  days  to 
pass  so  that  the  spring  might  bring  him  to  the 
bar-rooms  and  dens  of  vice,  where  the  awful 
monotony  might  be  relieved  in  a  spring-long 
spree.  Nobody  had  any  particular  interest  in 
Charlie,  and  no  one  knew  from  whence  he  came. 

And  yet  there  seemed  to  be  some  slight  ray  of 
hope  to-night.  He  had  listened  for  the  first  time 
since  boyhood  to  the  pearl  of  the  parables,  and 
then  Old  Ken  had  asked  the  preacher  to  "sing 
that  there  Wandering  Boy  piece."  Charlie  knew 
not  if  his  mother  still  lived,  but  the  words,  "Oh! 
could  I  see  you  now,  my  boy,  as  fair  as  in  olden 
times,"  came  like  his  mother's  call  through  the 

22 


CHARL  23 

sin-stained  past.  For  thirteen  years  he  had  cut 
himself  entirely  off,  so  far  as  his  whereabouts 
was  concerned,  from  that  one  who  had  never 
ceased  to  love  him. 

In  a  few  minutes  after  the  close  of  the  service 
Charlie  and  the  preacher  were  alone  on  the  moun- 
tain trail.  Suddenly  Charlie  stopped  and  said, 
"Good  God,  preacher,  you  can't,  you  don't  un- 
derstand what  I'm  up  against.  For  nineteen 
years  I've  been  in  the  hands  of  either  the  doctor  or 
the  policeman — my  passions  rip  me  to  pieces — 
men  can't  help  me;  I  wonder  if  God  can4?  I  want 
to  believe  what  you  said  to-night  is  true,  but  I've 
always  wanted  to  do  the  thing  that  damns  me, 
worse  than  I  have  wanted  to  do  anything  else, 
and  yet  I  never  do  it  without  something  saying 
'don't.'  " 

In  the  silence  of  the  lonely  hills  the  two  men 
stood,  while  one  asked  Him  who  is  the  Help  of 
the  helpless  to  be  the  Refuge  of  the  passion- 
pursued  man.  Poor  Charlie  could  utter  but  few 
words:  "God,  oh,  God,"  he  sobbed,  "I'm  like 
that  prodigal,  and  I'm  sick  of  it  all.  Oh,  God, 
can  you  help  me  ?  I  want  to  see  my  old  mother." 
With  the  mention  of  the  word  mother  the  man 
burst  into  a  passion  of  weeping.  For  several 
minutes  no  word  was  uttered,  as  the  preacher 
steadied  the  trembling  man.  It  was  no  easy  task 
for  Charlie  to  do  what  he  was  counselled  to  do 


24  MASTERED  MEN 

after  he  had  made  the  Great  Decision.  But  that 
night  he  read,  from  the  Testament  given  him,  a 
portion  of  the  third  chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel, 
and  knelt  by  his  bunk  and  asked  for  strength 
sufficient.  To  kneel  down  and  pray  in  certain 
Western  mining  camp  bunk-houses  is  a  man's 
job,  but  Charlie  had  realized  that  only  One  was 
able  to  deliver  from  the  passions  that  rend,  and 
to  that  One  he  appealed. 

A  fortnight  later  an  old  woman  in  a  far-away 
Ontario  village  received  a  letter  bearing  a  British 
Columbia  postmark.  She  was  a  poor,  lonely, 
half-crippled  individual,  but  the  message  of  that 
letter  enriched  and  cheered  her  and  quickened 
her  footsteps  as  nothing  had  done  in  years.  To 
everybody  she  knew,  and  to  a  good  many  people 
she  did  not  know,  she  told  of  her  new  joy.  In 
her  trembling  old  hands  she  held  the  precious 
letter.  "Do  you  know,  I've  got  a  letter  from 
my  Charl.  I  thought  he  was  dead.  I  haven't 
heard  from  him  in  thirteen  years,  but  he's  in 
British  Columbia,  and  he  says  he's  a  Christian 
man  now,  and  he  wants  to  see  his  mother — and 
he's  going  to  save  up  so's  he  can  come  home,  and 
till  he  comes  he's  going  to  write  every  week — 
and  he  sent  me  some  money.  Oh,  how  good  God 
is  to  give  me  back  my  Charl!"  The  poor  old 
soul  seemed  raised  as  if  by  a  miracle  from  her 
invalidism. 


CHARL  25 

Charlie  toiled  on  in  the  logging  gang,  and 
when  pay-day  came  the  hotel-keeper  reaped  the 
usual  harvest  from  most  of  the  men,  and  was 
hoping  that  Charlie  and  Bill  Davis,  two  of  his 
best  customers,  would  be  coaxed  back  to  their  old 
habits.  Bill  had  been  known  as  the  "little  devil" 
of  Primeau's  gang,  and  his  professed  change  of 
heart  was  a  thing  incredible  to  the  entire  com- 
munity. But  Charlie  and  Bill  had  been  a  good 
deal  together  of  late,  and  the  latter  had  told 
Charlie  all  he  purposed  to  do  and  be  with  God's 
help,  and  so  the  two  men  became  mutually 
helpful. 

Five  months  passed,  and  besides  having  pur- 
chased new  clothes,  Charlie  Rayson  had  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dollars  in  the  savings  bank  at 
Brandon  Falls. 

And  so  at  last  the  home  journey  was  to  be 
made.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  who  was  the 
more  excited,  Charlie  or  his  loyal  friend  Bill 
Davis.  For  some  time  Bill  thought  he  would 
"pull  out"  when  Charlie  went,  but  later  he  de- 
cided to  stay  on  his  job  a  few  months  longer. 
Nothing  would  do  but  that  Charlie  should  take 
"just  a  little  remembrance"  of  twenty-five  dollars 
from  Bill  to  the  aged  mother. 

On  Saturday  afternoon  the  final  arrangements 
were  made,  and  Bill  did  a  score  of  things  to 
make  Charlie's  get-away  easier  and  pleasanter. 


26  MASTERED  MEN 


k 


While  Bill  was  purchasing  a  few  little  necessi- 
ties at  the  company  store,  Charlie  stepped  across 
the  threshold  of  the  bar-room  for  the  first  time 
in  months.  He  wanted  to  say  good-bye  to  Andy 
the  bar-tender.  A  number  of  Charlie's  old  pals 
were  sitting  or  lounging  around,  some  of  them 
well  on  the  way  to  their  terrible  monthly  de- 
bauch. Numerous  hands  were  extended  and  not 
a  few  glasses  offered  to  Charlie.  "Not  for  me, 
boys — I've  cut  it  out  for  good,  thanks  all  the 
same,"  was  Charlie's  firm  response. 

"Oh,  come  off,"  cried  one,  "you  ain't  a-going 
back  on  your  old  pals  just  'cause  you've  got  a 
new  suit  o'  clothes." 

Numerous  sallies  followed  this,  but  to  each 
one  Charlie  gave  a  similar  reply,  and  backed 
towards  the  door.  It  has  always  been  supposed 
that  it  was  Primeau  himself  who  tripped  Charlie, 
but  be  that  as  it  may,  somehow  Charlie  stumbled 
backwards  to  the  bar-room  floor;  and  when  Bill 
Davis  was  returning  through  the  hall  some  of 
the  men  were  holding  Charlie  while  others  were 
pouring  whiskey  through  his  lips,  "just  to  give 
him  a  lesson  in  sociability."  Bill  Davis  could 
scarcely  believe  that  the  boys  had  tried  to  make 
Charlie  drink,  but  when  he  realized  what  had 
happened,  his  indignation  prompted  the  pro- 
fanity that  had  become  a  life  habit.  He  checked 
the  words,  however,  and  shouted  at  the  scoffing 


CHARL  2Tt 

group  to  leave  Charlie  alone  or  somebody  would 
get  a  headache.     There  was  a  laugh  from  one 

and  a  muttered  "mind  your  own  d business" 

from  another.  And  then  Bill  took  a  hand  in  the 
affair. 

The  following  day  the  affray  was  being  gen- 
erally discussed.  One  or  two  men  who  were  par- 
ticipants in  it  were  careful  to  keep  out  of  the 
public  gaze.  Bill  had  not  selected  places  where 
they  should  fall  when  he  was  defending  Charlie. 
To  a  little  group  in  the  bar-room  Andy  gave  the 
information  that  "There  was  something  doing 
all  right,  when  Bill  started  in  to  look  after 
Charlie.  Say!  the  feathers  was  a-flying.  Bill 
ain't  such  a  blamed  good  Christian  that  he's  for- 
got how  to  fight." 

The  taste  of  whiskey  had  aroused  the  old  crav- 
ing in  Charlie,  and  long  after  the  east-bound 
train  had  pulled  out  he  was  fighting  his  battle 
with  Bill  by  his  side. 

Never  had  the  two  men  felt  more  alone,  and 
never  had  they  more  needed  a  friend  than  now. 
All  Charlie's  confidence  in  his  ability  to  stand 
firm  seemed  to  be  shaken.  "Bill!"  he  said,  "I 
swallowed  some,  and  it  seems  like  it  was  run- 
ning all  through  me  to  find  some  more  to  keep 
it  company.  Bill !  for  God's  sake  don't  leave  me. 
I  feel  as  if  I  was  going  to  lose  the  game." 

Bill  hardly  knew  what  to  say  or  do.    The  fight 


28  MASTERED  MEN 

in  Charlie's  behalf  and  the  disappointment  over 
the  delayed  journey  had  left  a  great  depression. 
Neither  of  the  men  went  down  to  the  evening 
meal.  To  pass  the  bar-room  door  and  to  face 
the  men  again  seemed  more  than  Charlie  dare 
undertake. 

The  next  train  for  the  East  passed  through 
at  3  a.m.,  and  after  thinking  over  the  events  of- 
the  afternoon,  Bill  made  up  his  mind  that  they 
would  flag  Number  56,  and  that  he  would  jour- 
ney a  hundred  miles  or  so  with  his  sorely-tempted 
chum.  In  the  darkness  of  midnight,  the  two  men 
passed  quietly  out  of  the  building  and  along  the 
trail  to  the  railway  station. 

At  last  they  were  really  on  the  train,  and  hav- 
ing found  an  empty  double  seat  the  men  made 
themselves  as  comfortable  as  possible,  and  were 
soon,  like  their  fellow-passengers,  getting  such 
fitful  sleep  as  one  may  obtain  on  the  average 
"local." 

It  was  the  season  of  the  year  when  "wash- 
outs" make  journeying  dangerous,  and  frequently 
in  Western  Canada  trains  are  delayed  many 
hours,  and  sometimes  days,  by  the  swelling  of 
the  mountain  streams  which  in  their  onward  rush 
sometimes  carry  culverts  and  ballast  from  be- 
neath ties  and  track. 

The  train  had  pulled  out  of  Sinclair,  and  was 
making  her  usual  time  through  the  eastern  sec- 


CHARL  29 

tion  of  the  Pass,  when  passengers  were  suddenly 
thrown  from  their  seats  by  a  terrific  jolt.  Lamp 
glasses  crashed  to  the  aisle,  and  baggage  was 
dislodged  from  the  racks.  Charlie  pulled  him- 
self to  his  feet  almost  instantaneously,  despite 
the  knocks  he  had  received.  The  lamps  were 
flickering  and  smoking,  but  fortunately  there  ap- 
peared no  danger  of  fire.  The  brakeman,  hat- 
less  and  with  a  bleeding  face,  came  rushing 
through  the  cars  seeking  to  allay  the  fears. 
"Stay  in  the  cars,  please — there's  no  danger  of 
fire.  You're  better  here  than  outside.  Doctors 
will  be  here  soon." 

Bill  had  not  escaped  serious  injury.  He  found 
it  impossible  to  rise,  and  as  tenderly  as  he  knew 
how,  Charlie  pillowed  his  head  and  stooped  be- 
side him  as  he  lay  in  the  aisle.  "I'm  feared  I'm 
pretty  badly  hurted,  pardner,"  groaned  Bill. 
"There  was  something  kind  o'  crushed  inside. 
Guess  I'll  just  lie  here  for  a  bit." 

The  engine  had  plunged  through  an  under- 
mined piece  of  track,  and  engineer  and  fireman 
were  terribly  cut  and  scalded,  while  the  baggage- 
man had  been  pinned  beneath  some  heavy  trunks 
that  had  shot  forward  and  downward  when  the 
engine  crashed  into  the  washout. 

"It's  the  hospital  for  you,  my  man,"  said  the 
doctor  kindly,  after  a  hurried  examination  of 
Bill's  injuries.    "We'll  make  you  as  comfortable 


30  MASTERED  MEN 

as  we  can  before  the  'special'  pulls  out,  but  you 
need  a  little  attention  that  you  can't  get  in  the 
camp  even  if  you  were  able  to  stand  the  journey." 

Charlie  got  permission  to  accompany  his  pal, 
and  for  Bill's  sake  he  kept  a  brave  heart,  al- 
though the  events  of  the  past  twenty-four  hours 
robbed  him  of  the  lightheartedness  that  had  been 
his  in  anticipation  of  the  home-going. 

Two  days  later  Charlie  decided  to  continue 
his  journey  eastward.  The  doctors  were  still 
anxious  about  Bill,  but  there  was  nothing  Charlie 
could  do,  and  he  knew  the  old  mother  was  wait- 
ing for  her  boy. 

It  was  a  touching  farewell  as  the  sick  man's 
hand  was  clasped.  A  score  of  times  Charlie  had 
expressed  his  sorrow  that  he  had  ever  let  Bill 
accompany  him,  and  yet  each  time  in  his  own 
way  he  thanked  Bill  for  standing  by  him  when 
he  was  "near  bowled  out." 

Bill  tried  to  say  that  he  was  glad  Charlie  was 
going  home,  but  his  tone  and  look  revealed  his 
sense  of  loss  and  loneliness  at  the  prospect  of  his 
pal's  departure,  and  Charlie's  eyes  needed  a  good 
deal  of  attention,  which  they  received  surrepti- 
tiously. 

Motioning  for  Charlie  to  come  nearer,  the  sick 
man  whispered:  "You're  a  brick,  old  pard,  to 
stay  by  me  this  long.  I  guess  she's  getting  anx- 
ious for  yer.     Say,  Charlie,  when  yer  away  down 


CHARL  31 

there  I'll  be  kind  er  lonely;  how  would  it  be  if 
yer  made  a  bit  of  a  prayer  once  in  a  while  for 
me?"  Then  with  a  last  pressure  on  the  still 
clasped  hand,  he  added,  "Good-bye,  old  pal,  God 
bless  yer;  maybe  we'll  hit  the  trail  together  again 
some  day,  but  say,  Charlie!"  (the  voice  was 
throbbing  with  emotion,  and  the  eyes  reflected 
well-nigh  a  mother's  tenderness) — "say,  Charlie ! 
we'll  stay  by  it,  won't  we?  If  the  whole  world 
goes  back  on  Jesus  Christ  we  two' 11  stick  to  Him, 
'cause  we  know  what  He  can  do;  don't  we, 
Charlie?" 

Thus  they  parted.  Inside  of  three  days  the 
one  was  clasped  in  a  mother's  arms  and  there 
was  great  joy  in  the  little  village  home;  and  al- 
most at  the  same  hour  the  other  reached  his 
Father's  Home,  and  there,  too,  was  great  joy. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    BANNER    MINES 

Charlie  Rayson  was  the  man  who  first  sug- 
gested the  holding  of  special  services  at  the 
"Banner."  "Oh!  boys,  but  it's  a  hard  spot.  I 
mind  when  Old  Ken  hit  the  trail  to  get  a  job 
there.  Somebody  brought  word  they  was  pay- 
ing six  bits  an  hour  for  rough  carpentering,  and 
next  morning  Ken  took  over  the  mountain  with 
his  pack.  He  never  stopped  even  long  enough 
to  get  on  a  spree.  In  about  a  week  he  was  back 
at  the  old  spot.  That  night  he  was  in  the  bar- 
room telling  the  boys  about  his  trip.  I  mind  he 
told  'em  they  could  judge  what  it  was  like  when 
he  was  'the  only  gentleman  in  the  place.'  ' 
Those  who  knew  Ken  needed  no  further  report 
of  conditions  at  the  Banner  Mines. 

When  the  District  Superintendent  heard  that 
the  men  were  planning  to  go  to  the  "Banner," 
he  wrote  to  tell  them  not  to  be  too  much  dis- 
couraged if  it  took  a  week's  hard  work  to  get  half 
a  dozen  hearers.  "The  spot  is  known  to  many  as 
the  'hell-hole  of  the  Province,'  and  the  Church 

does  not  begin  to  figure  in  importance  with  the 

32 


THE  BANNER  MINES  33 

corner  grocery,  but  with  two  special  workers  and 
the  amount  of  earnest  prayer  that  is  everywhere 
being  offered,  I  am  hopeful  that  the  heartrend- 
ing indifference  may  be  overcome." 

And  so  on  a  certain  Monday  morning  the  mis- 
sioners  made  their  way  to  the  Junction,  and  then 
took  the  dirty  work-train  up  the  gulch  to  the 
camp.  In  a  community  where  men  have  for 
years  read  anti-church,  anti-religious  literature, 
and  where  "parasite"  is  hissed  under  the  breath 
every  time  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  is  seen,  it 
could  scarcely  be  expected  that  anything  ap- 
proaching a  welcome  would  be  given  the  new- 
comers. 

Inside  of  an  hour  the  work  of  getting  ac- 
quainted was  commenced.  On  the  trail,  along 
the  railway  track,  at  the  tipple,  at  the  entrance 
to  the  mines,  in  the  wash-room,  wherever  men 
could  be  met,  the  missioners  sought  to  enter  into 
conversation  with  the  miners.  Some  answered 
civilly,  a  few  were  almost  cordial,  many  were 
surly,  and  many  others  either  absolutely  indif- 
ferent and  silent,  or  openly  antagonistic. 

Dave  Clements,  a  disabled  miner,  who  looked 
after  the  wash-room,  expressed  himself  thus: 
"Religion  ain't  no  good  here;  most  of  the  mine- 
owners  is  supposed  to  hev  got  it,  and  so  the  rest 
of  us  don't  want  it.  Look  at  the  houses  what 
they  make  us  live  in — my  missus  has  been  sick 


34  MASTERED  MEN 

most  all  winter — jest  frozen,  that's  why!     We 

pays   eighteen   dollars   a   month    for    the   

places.  The  company  owns  everything  around 
here:  land,  houses,  stores,  train — even  the  air 
belongs  to  'em,  'cause  it's  full  of  their  coal-dust. 
We  has  to  pay  about  three  times  the  proper  price 
for  things;  but,  then,  that's  what  helps  'em  to 
be  religious;  that's  what  gives  'em  the  front  seats 
in  the  synagogue,  you  bet;  we  fellers  sweat  to 
buy  church  organs  and  plush  cushions,  and  then 
the  parasite  parcons  pat  the  mine-owners  on  the 
pate  and  give  thanks  for  such  generous  brethren. 
If  anybody  needs  revivalling,  stranger,  it's  that 
gang  of  hypocrites  back  yonder  what  makes  us 
poor  devils  raise  the  wind  to  blow  their  glory 
trumpets."  Yet  even  Dave  was  compelled  to  say 
of  Him  whom  the  missioners  sought  to  exalt,  "I 
fold  no  fault  in  this  man." 

In  response  to  an  invitation  to  attend  an  eve- 
ning service  one  miner  replied:  "Meeting,  eh'? 
Any  booze  going?  No?  Any  dance  after? 
Something  better  than  that?  Gee!  it  must  be 
swell!"  Then  the  tone  was  contemptuous:  "No, 
siree;  you  couldn't  get  me  into  a  religious  meet- 
ing with  a  couple  of  C.P.R.  engines." 

Yet  the  daily  conversations  and  invitations 
were  not  all  in  vain,  for  when  there  is  a  real 
concern    on    the    part    of    Christians    for    non- 


THE  BANNER  MINES  35 

Christians,  that  concern  is  likely  to  be  imparted 
to  those  whom  they  seek  to  win. 

Moses  Evans,  a  Welsh  miner,  listened  some- 
what impatiently  to  the  missioner's  words,  as  he 
stood  leaning  against  a  telephone  pole.  Then 
with    apparent    weariness   he    answered,    "Look 

here,  young  fellow,  there  ain't  a  man  in 

this  country  can  live  a  Christian  life  in  this  camp. 
I've  tried  it;  you  ain't.  I  know;  you  don't.  I 
used  to  be  a  Christian  in  Wales — leastwise,  I 
think  I  was — but  you  can't  be  here."  The  inter- 
view ended,  however,  with  a  promise  on  Moses' 
part  to  be  present  on  the  following  night.  Three 
nights  later  he  knelt,  at  the  close  of  the  service, 
behind  the  old  piano,  and  brokenly  asked  God  to 
make  him  "different  again."  "Forgive  my  sins," 
he  continued,  "and  help  me  like  You  did  in 
Wales." 

Near  the  end  of  the  week  the  missioners 
planned  to  hold  an  open-air  service  a  mile  and  a 
half  down  the  gulch,  at  a  spot  called  "Spanish 
Camp,"  where  nearly  two  hundred  miners  lived. 
It  was  hoped  that  by  arranging  the  meeting  be- 
tween "shifts"  a  number  might  hear  the  Gospel 
message,  who  had  not  previously  been  reached. 
Every  tent  and  shack  was  visited  twice  preceding 
the  meeting,  and  hand-printed  signs  were  posted 
wherever  likely  to  arrest  attention.  At  the  time 
for  the  meeting  to  commence  there  were  five  chil- 


36  MASTERED  MEN 

dren  and  eight  dogs  present.  It  was  not  a  "dig- 
nified" course  to  pursue,  and  probably  merited 
the  disapproval  of  the  "church  fathers,"  but  one 
of  the  missioners,  yearning  to  get  a  hearing  for 
his  message,  got  possession  of  a  large  tin  can  from 
a  nearby  rubbish  heap,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  club 
succeeded  in  getting  considerable  noise  from  its 
emptiness.  The  people  may  have  appreciated  his 
advertising  ability,  or  it  may  be  they  preferred 
to  hear  the  Gospel  rather  than  the  noise  that  was 
coming  from  the  tin  can;  but,  at  any  rate,  in  a 
few  minutes  a  circle  of  thirty  or  forty  gathered 
around  the  speakers. 

A  few  minutes  after  the  meeting  had  com- 
menced the  limping  figure  of  Moses  Evans  might 
have  been  seen  on  the  mountain-side  near  No.  3 
Mine.  Hurrying  down  the  trail  he  crossed  the 
rustic  bridge  over  the  little  mountain  stream,  and 
came  to  where  the  crowd  had  gathered.  With- 
out any  hesitation  he  pushed  through  the  circle 
and  stood  in  the  centre.  Reverently  removing 
his  miner's  cap,  he  said,  "I'd  like  to  pray."  A 
few  faces  expressed  a  sneer,  but  Moses  clasped 
his  hands  and  uttered  his  petition,  which  was 
written  down  immediately  thereafter.  "Oh,  God, 
you  know  as  how  the  devil  has  been  at  me  all 
day,  saying  as  I  dasn't  stand  out  in  the  public  air 
and  confess  Thee.  You  know,  oh,  my  God !  that 
I  want  to  be  a  good  man  again.     You  know  I 


THE  BANNER  MINES  3*7 

can't  read  nor  write  in  English,  but  You've  put 
words  in  my  mouth ;  put  them  into  my  heart,  and 
keep  it  clean,  for  Jesus'  sake.    Amen." 

Moses  Evans  and  other  men,  who  with  him 
made  open  confession  of  Jesus  Christ,  were  again 
and  again  spat  upon  and  cursed,  as  they  passed 
along  the  "entry"  at  their  daily  toil  in  the  mine. 
"But  it's  a  great  thing,"  wrote  the  school-teacher, 
"that  these  men  can  be  by  tongue  damned  higher 
and  damned  lower  than  anything  else  in  this 
world,  and  yet  stand  firm.  Increase  the  number 
of  such  men,  and  you  have  a  leaven  of  righteous- 
ness that  will  eventually  permeate  this  whole 
mining  community.  This  is  our  only  hope  of 
rescue  from  the  mire  of  sensuality  and  vice  into 
which  many  of  our  miners  have  sunk.  Moses 
says  to  please  tell  you  that  the  words  of  the 
hymn  you  used  to  sing  are  true  in  his  own  ex- 
perience : — 

'Through  days  of  toil,  when  heart  doth  fail 

God  will  take  care  of  you; 
When  dangers  fierce  your  path  assail, 

God  will  take  care  of  you.'  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    "HOP" 


It  was  the  acceptance  of  the  challenge  to  attend 
the  "Hop"  at  the  Bonanza  Camp  that  popular- 
ized the  services  at  the  Banner  Mines. 

After  the  open-air  meeting  a  number  of  men 
lounged  around  one  of  the  shacks  discussing  the 
question  of  religion.  When  one  of  the  preachers 
approached  the  group  to  invite  them  to  the  meet- 
ing in  the  Hall,  "Smut"  Ludlow  at  once  began 
to  air  his  grievances  against  the  Church,  and  to 

inform  the  preacher  that  there  were  "more 

rascals  in  the  Church  than  in  any  other  organ- 
ization on  earth."  Then  Frank  Stacy  contrib- 
uted his  bit  of  condemnation:  "See  here, 
preacher!  The  last  time  I  was  back  East,  I 
thought  I'd  see  what  sort  of  a  show  they  was  still 
running  in  yer  House  o'  God,  and  so  I  went  in. 
Just  over  the  archway  inside  was  a  fine  piece  of 
writing,  something  about  'the  rich  and  the  poor 
meeting  together,  and  going  snooks.'  I  thought 
it  sounded  pretty  good,  so  I  made  myself  as  com- 
fortable as  I  could  in  one  of  them  soft  seats. 
After  a  while  some  dude  started  to  play  the  or- 

38 


THE  "HOP"  39 

gan,  and  folks  dressed  up  fit  to  kill  strutted  into 
their  seats  and  bobbed  their  heads  down  and  pre- 
tended to  say  their  prayers.  Then  I  watched  an 
old  guy  trying  to  get  his  overcoat  off:  I  mind 
how  his  other  coat  well-nigh  come  off  with  it; 
he  sure  was  scared  when  he  saw  his  shirt  sleeve, 
and  he  hustled  both  his  coats  on  again  like  he'd 
been  caught  stealing.  Just  then  somebody  tapped 
me  on  the  shoulder,  and  a  coon  with  a  silk  tile  in 
his  hand  told  me  to  sit  at  the  back  where  the 
seats  weren't  rented.  I  went  back  looking  like  a 
fool,  but  you  bet  I  didn't  stop  for  a  back  seat:  I 
decided  I'd  take  an  outside  berth,  and  it'll  be  a 
few  hundred  years  before  this  chicken  gets  caught 
again.  Rich  and  poor  meet  together,  and  go 
snooks!  It  looked  like  it,  didn't  it1?  See  here, 
preacher,  ain't  it  about  time  you  fellers  stopped 
talking  one  thing  and  serving  up  another  %  The 
whole  thing  is  tommy-rot,  that's  what  I  say." 

Hal  Rinnell  was  not  antagonistic,  but  objected 
to  an  illustration  that  the  preacher  had  used. 
"Say,  preacher,  warn't  that  there  story  about  the 
Bishop  and  the  silver  candlesticks  a  bit  fishy? 
You  mind  you  said  about  the  feller  swiping  'em 
after  the  Bishop  had  give  him  a  bed,  and  then 
he  got  away  with  'em  through  the  night;  and 
when  the  p'liceman  saw  him  with  'em  next  morn- 
ing, and  know'd  they  belonged  to  the  Bishop, 
they  jest  nabbed  him   and  brought  him  back. 


40  MASTERED  MEN 

And  you  mind  you  said  the  Bishop  told  'em  the 
man  didn't  swipe  the  candlesticks,  but  got  'em 
from  him  as  a  present.  Then  when  the  p'lice  was 
gone,  the  Bishop  called  the  thief  'brother,'  and 
made  him  keep  his  haul  and  promise  to  be  square 
from  that  on.  Now  that  ain't  reasonable:  it 
ain't  human  nature.  I'd  like  to  see  the  pumpkin- 
head  what  would  swipe  my  candlesticks,  if  I  had 
any,  arter  I'd  give  him  a  decent  bed.  He'd  hev 
his  next  breakfast  in  Hades,  you  bet.  Some  o' 
you  preachers  ain't  reasonable;  you  kinder  get 
yer  wires  crossed." 

The  cross-firing  ended  by  a  proposition  from 
"Smut."  "There's  going  to  be  a  hot  old  time 
to-morrow  night  at  the  Bonanza,  preacher.  I'll 
make  a  deal  with  you.  You  don't  like  our  style; 
we  don't  like  your  hot  air.  You  attend  the  ball 
at  Bonanza,  we'll  attend  your  show,  providing 
you  start  when  we  start,  and  leave  when  we  leave, 
and  get  home  as  soon  as  we  do.  How's  that, 
boys?"  The  "boys"  trusted  Smut's  judgment, 
and  knew  by  his  wink  that  the  proposition  was 
safe,  hence  their  unanimity  to  make  it  a  "go." 
None  of  them  dreamed  that  the  proposal  would 
be  accepted,  but  after  a  moment's  conference 
with  his  fellow-worker  the  preacher  agreed;  and 
in  order  that  there  should  be  no  misunderstand- 
ing, he  repeated  Smut's  proposition. 

The  following  evening  the  six-mile  walk  to 


THE  "HOP"  41 

the  Bonanza  was  commenced,  and  the  second 
party  to  the  contract  followed  the  leaders.  The 
first  mile  of  trail  was  familiar  to  the  preacher, 
then  the  way  led  over  rarely-travelled  paths. 
Carefully  he  took  his  bearings  when  that  was 
possible,  for  few  landmarks  existed.  He  ob- 
served the  whisperings  and  smiles  when  the  way 
was  wide  enough  for  two  or  three  of  the  men 
to  walk  together,  and  surmised  that  he  was  the 
subject  of  the  conversation. 

At  last  the  Bonanza  was  reached,  and  already 
the  gaudily-decorated  dining-room  of  the  board- 
ing-house resounded  with  laughter  and  shouting 
from  well-nigh  a  hundred  guests.  From  all  cor- 
ners of  the  district  they  had  gathered,  for  where 
social  opportunities  are  so  rare  the  camp  ball  is 
a  great  event. 

The  "band"  consisted  of  violin,  cornet,  and 
horn,  accompanied  by  the  rhythmic  pounding  of 
the  performers'  feet. 

Women  were  scarce  in  the  district,  and  most 
of  the  men  desired  to  dance  with  every  woman 
present,  so  that  the  periods  of  rest  were  few  and 
short. 

Liquor  was  dispensed  freely,  and  some  of  the 
dancers  became  hilarious  and  others  quarrelsome. 

Only  once  was  there  anything  approaching 
a  fight.  "Nell"  Webster,  a  notorious  character, 
who  was  once  well  known  in  the  crime  colony 


42  MASTERED  MEN 

of  an  American  city  because  of  her  more  than 
ordinary  attractiveness,  had  passed  through 
many  degrading  experiences,  and  had  eventually 
taken  up  her  abode  at  the  Bonanza.  Excessive 
use  of  drugs  and  liquor  had  wrecked  her  attrac- 
tiveness, but  a  dance  was  considered  incomplete 
without  her,  and  when  excited  by  intoxicants  she 
could  "hold  the  floor  with  any  of  them."  It  was 
through  one  miner  attempting  to  monopolize 
Nell's  dances  that  the  quarrel  arose.  Heated 
words,  then  curses  and  threats,  created  an  ugly 
situation,  until  a  few  of  the  more  sober  man- 
aged to  separate  the  angered  ones.  It  was  the 
last  night  they  would  quarrel  over  Nell.  Her 
mad  race  was  ended.  The  girl  of  beauty  had  let 
sin  become  her  taskmaster,  and  now  for  years  her 
cup  of  pleasure  had  contained  only  the  dregs. 
Step  by  step  the  progress  had  been  downward. 
Once,  "respectable"  men  with  refined  brutality 
had  made  her  think  she  was  their  valued  com- 
panion, and  then,  like  an  orange  from  which  the 
sweetness  had  been  extracted,  they  had  cast  her 
off.  For  a  time  she  gained  notoriety  by  being  the 
wife  of  Len  Walsh,  counterfeiter,  burglar,  con- 
fidence-man, and  all-round  crook.  At  that  time 
she  was  known  as  "Len  Walsh's  woman,"  but 
when  Len  lapsed  from  clever  crime  to  simple 
drunkenness,  she  left  him  and  took  another  name. 


THE  "HOP"  43 

And  now  for  years  her  associates  had  been  drunks 
and  crooks. 

Once  during  the  revelry,  as  an  opportunity 
presented  itself,  the  preacher  spoke  a  few  words 
to  her  about  her  terrible  mode  of  living.  He 
thought  there  was  a  shadow  of  remorse  as,  with 

a  forced  smile,  she  replied,  "I  don't  give  a  d 

now;  better  try  it  on  somebody  younger." 

Two  days  later  the  preacher  was  asked  to  re- 
turn to  the  Bonanza  and  "make  a  last  prayer 
over  Nell."  They  had  found  her  lifeless  body 
the  morning  following  the  camp  ball.  Her  grimy 
shack  was  littered  with  bottles  and  glasses,  and 
there  were  evidences  of  a  fracas — sin-marred,  sin- 
mauled  Nell  lay  on  the  filthy  floor  in  the  dress 
she  had  worn  at  the  dance.  They  buried  her  half 
a  mile  from  the  camp,  and  one  of  the  boys  crudely 
carved  the  word  "Nell"  on  a  cedar  post,  and 
placed  it  at  the  head  of  the  solitary  grave  amid 
the  lonely  mountains.  Few  sadder  moments  has 
the  preacher  ever  spent  than  the  ones  occupied 
in  the  burial  of  Nell.  Again  and  again  were  her 
last  words  to  him  recalled — words  that  have 
since  become  an  appeal  in  behalf  of  the  wander- 
ing:   "I  don't  give  a  d now;  better  try  it 

on  somebody  younger." 

But  to  return  to  the  dance.  It  was  long  past 
midnight  when  the  "Banner"  contingent  started 
for  home.    There  was  something  of  interest  that 


44  MASTERED  MEN 

Smut  had  to  confidentially  communicate  to  each 
man.  Then  there  was  a  hurried  shout,  "All  right, 
boys,"  and  the  crowd  immediately  disappeared 
in  the  darkness.  Thus  far  the  preacher  had  kept 
his  part  in  the  agreement,  but  Smut  Ludlow  was 
planning  that  on  the  homeward  journey  the  rest 
of  the  contract  must  be  made  impossible. 

The  miners  struck  a  furious  pace,  and  the 
preacher  was  for  a  few  minutes  unable  to  see  the 
winding  way,  but  he  stumbled  along  as  rapidly 
as  the  hindmost  of  his  fellow-travellers.  Very 
soon  he  realized  that  many  of  the  men  could  not 
maintain  that  pace  for  long,  and  so,  refraining 
from  conversation,  he  held  himself  well  in  re- 
serve, being  content  to  take  his  pace  from  the 
slowest  in  the  line.  For  half  an  hour  no  change 
in  position  took  place.  The  foremost  men  were 
chuckling  to  themselves  over  "shaking"  the 
preacher,  and  were  wondering  how  far  back  on 
the  trail  he  was,  and  whether  he  would  spend 
the  next  few  hours  in  the  woods  waiting  for  day- 
light. But  their  mirth  was  short-lived.  The 
preacher  decided  that  it  was  his  move  next.  He 
could  hear  the  panting  of  the  men  immediately 
ahead  of  him,  and  at  a  favourable  opportunity 
he  increased  the  length  and  speed  of  his  stride, 
and  passed  two  of  the  boys.  At  each  widening 
of  the  trail  he  performed  the  same  feat,  until 
only  Smut  remained  ahead. 


THE  "HOP"  45 

Smut  was  mightily  amazed  when  he  discovered 
who  was  his  nearest  fellow  traveller,  and  an  oath 
escaped  him.  With  vigorously  swinging  arms  he 
made  every  effort  to  keep  the  lead,  trying  for  a 
while  to  do  a  "jog-trot,"  but  his  feet  began  to 
drag  heavily,  and  once  or  twice  he  stumbled.  No 
word  was  exchanged,  for  Smut  was  being  pressed 
to  the  utmost  expenditure  of  his  strength,  and  the 
other  contestant  had  never  more  longed  for  vic- 
tory. More  than  once  he  had  received  the  cheers 
of  the  thousands  when  he  was  the  favourite  on 
McGill's  field-day,  but  somehow  he  felt  to-night 
larger  issues  were  at  stake  than  the  athletic  glory 
of  a  college.  He  was  still  comparatively  fresh, 
for  he  had  been  only  an  onlooker  at  the  dance, 
and  had  no  alcohol  in  his  system.  Narrating 
his  final  contest  to  his  fellow-worker,  he  said, 
"If  ever  I  prayed  Samson's  prayer  with  all  my 
heart  it  was  right  then:  'Strengthen  me,  I  pray 
Thee,  only  this  once,  O  God.'  " 

At  last  the  two  men  were  side  by  side,  but 
only  for  a  few  seconds.  With  the  enthusiasm 
of  a  victor  the  preacher  quickly  lengthened  the 
distance,  and  managed  to  spare  enough  breath 
to  call  back,  "Come  on,  boys;  it's  no  use  hang- 
ing around  here  all  night."  At  the  first  winding 
of  the  trail  he  broke  into  a  run,  and  kept  it  up 
until  he  reached  the  bunk-house.  With  all  pos- 
sible speed  he  unlaced  his  boots,  threw  off  his 


46  MASTERED  MEN 

coat,  made  himself  as  comfortable  as  possible, 
and  when  the  boys  filed  in  he  was  sitting  along- 
side of  the  dining-table  with  his  feet  on  a  box 
and  a  book  in  his  hand,  looking  as  though  he  had 
been  having  a  quiet  night  of  reading. 

Poor  Smut!  If  ever  a  man  had  it  rubbed  in, 
it  was  Smut  Ludlow.  Even  before  the  camp 
was    reached    the    attack    commenced.      "Smut, 

you're  a fool,  and  you've  made fools 

of  every man  in  the  camp,"  started  Frank 

Stacey. 

But  with  characteristic  Western  fair  play  the 
preacher's  stock  went  up  rapidly.  "That  sky 
pilot  ain't  no  slouch."  "Gee!  whiz!  you  should 
have  seen  him  give  Smut  the  go-by  when  he  was 
plunging  around  like  a  whale  in  shallow  water, 
and  puffing  like  the  'dummy'  when  she's  trying 
to  make  the  grade  with  too  big  a  haul."  Many 
similar  expressions  went  the  round  the  next  day, 
and  the  preacher  was  no  longer  regarded  as  the 
under-dog. 

"Say,  pilot,"  said  Frank  at  the  noon  hour, 
"where  d'you  learn  that  gait  you  struck  last 
night?"  With  a  smile  came  the  quiet  reply,  "I 
was  brought  up  on  the  farm,  and  used  to  drive 
the  calves  to  the  water."  As  Frank  walked  away 
he  remarked,  "Yer  guv'nor  must  have  raised 
blamed  good  calves." 

The  most  annoying  result  of  the  whole  inci- 


THE  "HOP"  47 

dent,  so  far  as  the  men  were  concerned,  lay  in 
the  fact  that  they  were  in  honour  bound  to  at- 
tend the  evangelistic  meeting.  To  some  it  was 
so  exasperating  that  they  suggested  the  violation 
of  the  contract.  But  that  was  not  to  be  thought 
of  in  the  opinion  of  the  majority.  "We  was 
licked,  and  we'll  take  our  medicine,  though  it's 
hard  to  swaller,"  said  Hal  Rinnell. 

For  the  meeting  that  night  the  hand-printed 
signs  gave  the  information  that  a  series  of  lan- 
tern slides  would  be  exhibited  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  service. 

A  few  minutes  after  the  opening,  and  while  a 
popular  Gospel  hymn  was  being  sung,  about  a 
dozen  men  availed  themselves  of  the  merciful- 
ness of  the  semi-darkness,  and  slipped  into  back 
seats.  By  the  time  the  lights  were  turned  up 
they  had  become  accustomed  to  their  surround- 
ings, and  bore  with  fair  grace  the  suggestive 
glances  that  were  directed  towards  them. 

The  appeal  was  based  on  the  words:  "I  find 
no  fault  in  this  Man."  All  the  controversial 
weaknesses  of  the  Church  were  dismissed,  and 
the  great  problems  of  heart  and  life  were  dealt 
with  in  a  manly,  sympathetic  manner,  and  men's 
thoughts  were  directed  to  that  One  whose  name 
still  occupies  its  splendid  solitary  pre-eminence. 
Before  any  person  left  the  building,  the  speaker 
was  in  his  accustomed  place  at  the  door  to  speak 


48  MASTERED  MEN 

a  personal  word  and  give  a  handshake.  Frank 
Stacey  clasped  the  proffered  hand  with  genuine 
cordiality,  and  in  a  voice  that  was  heard  by  all, 
said,  "You're  playing  a  bully  good  game, 
preacher.  You  hit  as  good  a  pace  to-night  as 
last  night,  and  if  you  keep  it  up  you'll  lick  us 
to  a  finish  before  your  innings  is  out." 

Smut  Ludlow  was  not  in  good  humour,  and 
as  the  boys  sat  around  the  bunk-house  stove  hav- 
ing their  last  smoke  for  the  day,  he  was  clearly 
disgusted  and  maddened  at  the  changed  attitude 
of  the  camp  toward  the  preacher.  Once  he  ex- 
pressed   himself    after    Frank    had    praised    the 

preacher  for  his  "grit."     "You're  a lot  of 

turncoats;  things  are  in  a of  a  mess  if  you 

fellows  can  be  bamboozled  by  one  of  these 

parasites." 

"Well!  we  ain't  the  only  ones  what  were  bam- 
boozled, Smut.  He  sure  put  in  all  over  you  last 
night,  and  if  you  had  enough  brains  to  fill  a 
thimble  you'd  keep  your  fool  mouth  shut." 
Never  in  their  long  acquaintance  had  Frank  op- 
posed Smut  to  the  extent  of  this  deliverance,  but 
there  was  no  question  but  that  the  preacher  had 
overcome  Frank's  opposition  and  aroused  his  ad- 
miration. "Anyhow,"  he  continued,  "that  chap's 
a  different  brand  to  most  of  'em,  and  I  kinder 
think  he  can  put  up  the  genuine  goods." 

Frank  threw  his  clothes  over  the   line   and 


THE  "HOP"  49 

clambered  into  his  untidy  bunk,  and  long  after 
the  heavy  breathing  of  wearied  men  had  become 
general  he  lay  with  strangely  new  thoughts.  He 
agreed  with  the  preacher  that  it  wasn't  a  square 
deal  to  "find  no  fault  in  this  Man,"  and  then  to 
deliver  Him  to  be  crucified.  And  that  night  the 
preacher  had,  by  numerous  illustrations,  com- 
pelled the  worst  of  men  to  pay  their  tribute  to 
Him  who  was  the  highest  that  humanity  has 
known;  and  yet  were  they  any  "squarer"  to  Him 
than  Pilate  was*?  Had  they  not  much  more  evi- 
dence than  Pilate  had,  and  yet,  in  the  face  of 
an  absolutely  unanimous  verdict  of  "not  guilty," 
they  pronounced  what  was  equal  to  the  death 
penalty.  Again  and  again  Frank  said  to  himself 
"That  ain't  square." 

There  was  not  a  seat  to  spare  in  the  dance- 
hall  during  the  subsequent  nights.  Frank  Stacey 
missed  no  service,  and  when,  at  the  mission's 
close,  a  meeting  was  called  of  those  interested  in 
the  organization  of  a  Church  and  the  erection  of 
a  building,  he  was  one  of  the  little  company. 

When  six  months  later  they  were  ready  to  oc- 
cupy the  new  church,  Frank  was  insistent  that 

Mr. ,  "the  man  who  showed  Smut  where  to 

get  off,"  should  be  the  preacher  for  the  day. 
"Impossible,"  said  a  number;  "it  would  cost  over 
thirty  dollars  for  railway  fare  alone."  "Impos- 
sible   nothing!"     was    Frank's    response;    and 


50  MASTERED  MEN 

twenty-four  hours  later  he  handed  fifty  dollars 
to  the  Treasurer  for  railway  fare  and  pulpit  sup- 
ply, and  after  two  weeks  of  correspondence  the 
announcement  was  made  that  the  desired  speaker 
was  coming. 

No  one  enjoyed  the  day  of  the  opening  more 
than  Frank.  The  building  of  the  church  had 
absorbed  all  his  interest,  and  now  the  effort  was 
crowned  with  success.  For  several  nights  a  dozen 
Welsh  and  English  miners  had  practised  the 
hymns  "to  give  the  thing  a  good  send-off."  They 
sat  in  the  corner  near  the  reading-desk,  and  led 
the  music  with  increasing  confidence  as  the  day's 
services  progressed. 

CT  guess  the  devil  over-reached  himself  when 
he  tried  to  make  a  fool  of  the  preacher  the  night 
of  the  dance,"  said  Frank,  as  a  group  stood  out- 
side at  the  close  of  the  afternoon's  Communion 
service.  "  'Tain't  often  he  gets  as  hard  hit  in 
the  neck  by  his  friends  as  he  was  that  night." 

The  Church  at  the  "Banner"  has  had  its  ups 
and  downs  during  the  past  three  years.  One  of 
the  mines  has  closed,  and  many  shacks  are  now 
unoccupied.  Frank  Stacey  has  gone  over  to  Van- 
couver Island,  and  some  of  the  "charter  mem- 
bers" have  ceased  their  earthly  labours;  but  each 
Sabbath-day  a  few  faithful  ones,  "the  salt  of  the 
earth,"  gather  for  worship  in  the  Church  that 
Smut  Ludlow  unwittingly  caused  to  be  built. 


CHAPTER  V 

"THY   TOUCH   HAS   STFLL   ITS    ANCIENT   POWER" 

Jack  Roande  was  on  one  of  his  periodical 
sprees.  For  eight  years  he  had  been  going  the 
pace.  They  had  been  long,  weary  years  to  the 
one  whom  Jack  had  vowed  to  love  and  cherish. 
Night  after  night,  through  these  long  years,  she 
had  listened  for  the  awful  home-coming.  There 
were  few  in  the  little  mining  town  but  had  often 
seen  her  eyes  reddened  by  weeping,  and  all  knew 
of  the  Eastern  home  she  had  left.  Among  those 
who  had  joined  in  the  "send-off,"  nearly  fifteen 
years  ago,  were  two  men  whose  names  are  still 
honoured  household  words  throughout  the  Do- 
minion. There  was  no  note  of  sadness  that  day, 
for  Jack  was  a  "model  young  man,"  and  every 
one  agreed  that  there  was  "no  finer  girl  than 
Nell." 

Jack  blamed  his  downfall  to  dabbling  in  poli- 
tics. "Politics  are  rotten  in  this  province,"  said 
he,  as  he  endeavoured  to  excuse  his  condition; 
but  perhaps,  as  a  chum  of  Jack's  said,  he  only 
blamed  politics  "  'cause  a  fellow  generally  tries 
to  find  a  soft  place  to  fall."     Whatever  the 

51 


52  MASTERED  MEN 

cause,  at  least  the  fact  was  plain  to  all  in  the 
town  that  Jack  was  "down  and  out." 

The  business  men  said  so,  and  agreed  with  the 
authorities  that  Jack  was  a  nuisance  to  the  town. 
Some  of  those  who  had  assisted  in  his  downfall 
spoke  of  him  as  a  "dirty  loafer,"  and  even  the 
bar-rooms,  where  he  had  "spent  all,"  tolerated 
his  presence  only  when  the  cruel  pity  of  some 
patron  called  him  in  for  a  treat,  or  when  he  could 
exhibit  some  coin. 

It  was  through  the  "tender  mercies  of  the 
wicked"  to  Jack  that  there  were  three  empty 
stockings  in  the  Roande  home  on  the  recent 
Christmas  Eve.  "For  the  children's  sake,"  there 
had  been  a  tearful  plea  that  the  husband  would 
be  home  Christmas  Eve  and  Christmas  Day. 
With  glad  expectancy  the  meagre  resources  of 
the  pantry  were  combined  by  loving  hands  to 
give  the  nearest  possible  approach  to  a  feast. 
From  the  near-by  woods  the  children  had  brought 
cedar  and  pine  for  decorative  purposes,  and 
these,  with  stray  bits  of  brightly-coloured  tissue 
paper,  had  done  much  to  give  the  home  a  Christ- 
mas appearance.  The  usual  notes  had  been  writ- 
ten to  Santa  Claus,  and  the  mother-heart  had 
lovingly  suggested  a  curtailment  of  such  re- 
quests as  Santa  might  find  it  difficult  to  grant. 
The  little  ones  had  thrown  their  letters  into  the 
fire,  and  watched  some  of  the  gauzy  ashes  car- 


"THY  TOUCH"  53 

ried  up  the  chimney  to  the  mysterious  but  gen- 
erous friend  of  the  children,  who  would  soon  be 
loading  his  sleigh  somewhere  in  the  far  north. 

Jack  appeared  to  respond  to  his  wife's  plead- 
ings, and  so  on  account  of  her  many  home  duties 
she  confided  to  him  some  of  the  requests  the  chil- 
dren had  made,  and  how  the  much-coveted  toys 
were  parcelled  and  waiting  to  be  called  for  at  one 
of  the  down-town  stores.  No  word  was  spoken 
of  the  sacrifice  the  purchases  had  involved,  nor 
of  the  sting  love  had  endured  when  for  the  chil- 
dren's sake  she  began  to  take  in  sewing.  It  was 
therefore  agreed  that  Jack  should  bring  the  par- 
cel home  shortly  before  tea  on  Christmas  Eve, 
and  in  the  darkness  it  could  be  hidden  away  until 
the  little  ones  were  asleep. 

Jack  was  true  to  his  word,  and  started  for 
home  with  the  precious  toys  under  his  arm,  in 
ample  time  for  the  evening  meal. 

"Merry  Christmas,  Jack,"  called  a  voice  as 
Jack  was  rounding  the  saloon  corner;  "come  on 
in  and  have  one." 

"Guess  I'd  better  get  home,"  was  the  hesitat- 
ing reply.  It  needed  little  persuasion,  however, 
to  get  Jack  inside,  and  after  a  second  treat  he 
lost  all  anxiety  to  reach  home,  and  was  ready 
for  a  night's  debauch. 

During  the  tea-hour  the  bar  patrons  became 
fewer,  and  Jack's  chances  for  further  drinks  were 


54  MASTERED  MEN 

far  apart.  In  response  to  a  request  to  "chalk  up 
a  couple  of  whiskeys,"  he  received  an  emphatic 
"not  on  your  life"  from  the  bar- tender. 

There  was  a  momentary  conflict  within  Jack, 
and  then  the  beast  became  lord  over  the  man. 
Going  to  the  corner  he  brought  his  parcel  from 
the  bench  and  placed  it  on  the  bar.  "How  much 
can  I  draw  on  for  that?"  There  was  a  wild  de- 
termination in  the  voice.  Unwrapping  the  par- 
cel beneath  the  bar,  the  bar-tender  at  once  knew 
what  the  consents  meant. 

"I  don't  want  'em,  Jack:  you  better  get  home 
to  your  kids."  But  Jack  was  insistent,  and  grad- 
ually the  other  weakened.  "Well,  it's  your  prop- 
erty, and  if  you're  going  to  sell  'em  I  guess  I 
may  as  well  buy  'em  as  anybody  else.  I'll  chalk 
you  fifty  cents."  The  articles  were  worth  three 
times  the  amount  offered,  but  Jack  was  being 
consumed  with  that  hellish  thirst  that  he  had  de- 
veloped through  many  years,  and  he  at  once 
started  to  use  up  his  credit. 

A  mile  away  an  anxious  wife  awaited  Jack's 
return.  Cheerfully  she  had  gone  about  her  work 
until  the  hour  for  the  evening  meal,  but  with  the 
passing  moments  the  husband's  absence  caused 
her  fears  to  increase. 

With  forced  smiles  she  did  her  best  to  bring 
into  the  home  the  gladness  that  belongs  to  Christ- 
mas Eve,  but  the  heart  was  heavy,  and  the  little 


"THY  TOUCH"  55 

ones  saw  now  and  again  the  tears  that  could  not 
be  suppressed. 

Bedtime  was  prolonged  to  two  hours  beyond 
the  customary  time,  but  still  there  was  no  sign 
of  the  father.  Once  the  mother  expressed  the 
fears  that  were  in  her  heart  when  she  suggested 
that  sometimes  Santa  Claus  did  not  get  to  homes 
when  the  father  was  away,  at  which  suggestion 
there  were  tearful  little  eyes  and  oft-expressed 
wishes  that  "daddy"  would  come  home.  Bravely 
the  mother  gathered  the  three  children  around; 
her  chair  for  their  good-night  sing.  Favourite 
hymns  of  the  Sabbath  School  were  sung,  and  all 
the  time  four  pairs  of  ears  were  alert  for  the 
sound  of  Jack's  return. 

It  was  while  Grace's  favourite  hymn,  "I  am 
so  glad  that  our  Father  in  Heaven,"  was  being 
sung,  that  footsteps  were  heard  at  the  door.  In- 
stantly the  little  ones  ceased  their  singing,  as 
Grace  joyously  shouted,  "It's  daddy;  Santa  Claus 
will  come  now,  won't  he,  mother*?" 

For  a  minute  or  two  before  Grace's  glad  shout 
two  men  had  stood  in  the  darkness  outside  the 
Roande  home.  After  he  had  been  turned  out  of 
the  "Kelby  House,"  Jack  had  staggered  and 
stumbled  around  the  streets  for  some  time,  and 
at  last  lay  prostrate  in  the  snow  not  far  from 
the  home  of  one  who  had  often  befriended  him. 
A  woman  hurrying  along  the  street  suddenly  saw 


56  MASTERED  MEN 

the  dark  form  on  the  snow,  and  with  a  cry  of  fear 
ran  to  the  near-by  house.  The  minister,  who 
resided  there,  at  once  recognizing  poor  Jack, 
dragged  him  into  the  house,  and  after  securing  a 
neighbour's  sleigh  and  a  driver,  started  for  Jack's 
home. 

From  the  sleigh  to  the  house  he  managed  to 
conduct  Jack  safely,  but  when  the  strains  of  "I 
am  so  glad"  from  childish  voices  reached  his  ears, 
he  stood  still  for  a  moment.  How  could  he  take 
such  a  father  home  at  such  a  time!  Yet  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  remain  long  outside  with 
Jack  as  he  was,  and  so  he  guided  the  poor  drunken 
father  onward.  Jack  stumbled  and  fell  heavily 
against  the  door  just  as  Grace's  glad  shout  si- 
lenced the  hymn-singing.  The  minister  was 
dragged  almost  to  the  floor  as  the  door  sprang 
open  and  Jack  lurched  into  the  room. 

Few  words  were  spoken,  for  all  hearts  were 
sad  as  the  stupefied  man  almost  immediately  fell 
asleep  on  the)  floor  of  the  sitting-room,  and  filled 
the  air  with  the  drunkard's  stench.  The  little 
ones  were  tenderly  told  to  go  to  their  beds. 

"Had  he  a  parcel  when  you  found  him*?" 
whispered  the  mother  as  soon  as  she  could  control 
her  voice.  Then  followed  the  narration  of  her 
plans  to  fill  the  three  stockings  that  had  already 
been  hung  up  at  the  back  of  the  stove.  And  now 
it  was  too  late  to  find  out  what  had  happened 


"THY  TOUCH"  57 

to  the  parcel.  The  minister  looked  into  the 
mother's  face,  and  then  at  the  three  empty  stock- 
ings with  their  mute  appeal  for  a  visit  from 
Santa  Claus. 

"I  could  bear  this,  hard  as  it  is,"  she  con- 
tinued, glancing  at  the  drunken  sleeper,  "but  the 

poor  children "     Her  head  dropped  on  her 

arms  which  were  resting  on  the  table,  and  quietly 
she  wept  over  the  bitter  disappointment  the  little 
ones  must  bear  on  Christmas  morning. 

"Mrs.  Roande" — a  hand  touched  her  shoul- 
der lightly — "if  you  are  not  too  wearied  to  wait 
up  I'll  do  my  best  to  locate  the  parcel."  The 
look  from  the  grateful  mother  was  all  that  was 
needed  to  send  the  minister  forth  on  his  errand 
of  love. 

The  store  from  which  the  toys  were  secured 
was  closed,  but  the  proprietor  had  not  yet  re- 
tired, and  was  able  to  reassure  the  midnight  vis- 
itor that  Jack  had  procured  the  parcel  shortly 
before  supper-time.  It  was  not  long  before  the 
clue  led  the  minister  to  the  home  of  the  bar- 
tender. Wearied,  but  with  mingled  sorrow  and 
anger,  he  rang  trie  door  bell.  The  man  he  was 
looking  for  came  downstairs  partly  disrobed,  and 
was  manifestly  surprised  at  a  pastoral  call,  espe- 
cially at  such  an  hour.  The  minister  stepped 
unasked  into  the  hall.  "Mr.  Klint,  I  apologize 
for  disturbing  you,  but  Mr.  Roande  left  a  par- 


58  MASTERED  MEN 

eel  somewhere  that  I  must  find  to-night,  and  I 
understand  he  was  in  your  bar-room.  Do  you 
know  anything  about  it?" 

The  answer  not  being  satisfactory,  a  further 
question  was  put. 

"No,  sir,  he  left  nothing;  we  had  a  square 
deal,  but  that's  nobody's  business  but  mine  and 
his." 

"May  I  then  ask  if  a  parcel  containing  toys 
had  any  place  in  that  deal?"  No  answer  being 
given,  the  minister  said  with  quiet  firmness,  "I 
must  have  an  answer  to  that  question  before  I 
leave  this  house.  Mr.  Klint,  this  is  Christmas 
Eve!  There  are  three  empty  stockings  hanging 
in  the  room  where  Jack  Roande  lies  drunk,  and 
the  things  intended  for  those  stockings  must  be 
there  before  morning." 

"I'm  not  obliged  to  tell  you  or  anybody  else 
anything  about  my  business,"  answered  Klint 
surlily;  "but  if  you  are  so  anxious  to  know,  then 
I  can  tell  you  that  I  bought  that  parcel  to  oblige 
Jack,  and  it  was  his  deal,  not  yours." 

"This  is  not  the  time  for  much  talking.  Be 
good  enough  to  tell  me  where  the  parcel  is  now, 
and  what  you  paid  for  it."  Again  there  was  hesi- 
tancy, and  again  there  was  pressure.  At  last  the 
information  was  elicited  that  the  toys  were  be- 
neath the  roof  that  sheltered  them,  and  that  the 
price  paid  was  fifty  cents. 


"THY  TOUCH"  59 

"Be  good  enough  for  the  children's  sake,  if  not 
for  your  own,  to  take  back  your  fifty  cents  and 
let  me  take  the  parcel." 

Eventually  the  deal  was  consummated.  When 
the  toys  were  safely  in  his  possession  the  minister 
said,  "Mr.  Klint,  if  you  were  dealt  with  as  you 
deserve,  you  would  spend  Christmas  day,  not  in 
your  own  comfortable  home,  but  in  the  hospital 
or  in  jail:  I  only  hope  you  are  not  as  contemp- 
tible as  your  deed.     I  shall  see  you  again,  some 

other  day." 

The  hand-clasp  from  the  thankful  mother  was 
ample  repayment  for  the  midnight  search,  and 
in  the  early  morning  the  exclamations  of  delight 
from  her  little  ones  in  turn  lifted  something  of 
the  burden  from  her  trouble-worn  life. 

Thus  had  it  been,  sorrow  after  sorrow,  for 
poor  Nell  Roande  for  over  eight  years,  and  at 
times  she  felt  there  was  little  hope  of  any  change, 
but  the  new  day  was  soon  to  come,  and  the  night 
of  weeping  was  to  be  turned  into  the  morn  of 
song. 

On  the  Tuesday  night  following  the  com- 
mencement of  special  services,  as  a  little  group 
of  young  men  were  leaving  the  Pool-room  ad- 
joining the  Opera  House,  Jack  Roande  came 
stumbling  along.  It  was  a  great  joke,  so  Bill 
Thornton  thought,  to  "jolly"  Jack  into  believ- 
ing that  there  was  a  "free  show  in  the  Opera 


60  MASTERED  MEN 

House,  with  pretty  girls  and  swell  dancing." 
Within  a  few  minutes  Jack  was  sitting  with  eyes 
as  wide  open  as  he  could  get  them,  ready  to  take 
in  the  "swell  dancing."  He  quickly  realized  that 
he  had  been  fooled,  and  catching  the  word  "re- 
ligion" he  shook  his  fist  as  he  departed  saying, 

"Religion!  it's  all  d d  rot.     There's  nothing 

in  it."  The  missioner  was  down  the  aisle  in  a 
few  seconds,  and  as  Jack  was  passing  through 
the  swinging  doors  a  kindly  hand  was  laid  upon 
his  shoulder,  and  a  voice,  made  tender  by  ac- 
quaintance with  the  Friend  of  sinners,  said 
"Good-night,  friend;  you  have  the  marks  of  a 
gentleman  although  you  have  made  a  slip  to- 
night.   I  hope  you  will  come  again." 

Returning  to  the  platform  he  continued  his 
message,  but  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the  speaker's 
heart  was  out  in  the  nigljt  wherever  Jack  was. 
Was  it  that  yearning  that  brought  Jack  back 
again  in  less  than  half  an  hour?  Be  that  as  it 
may,  the  man  who  had  left  with  a  curse,  stag- 
gered in  again  before  the  closing  hymn,  and  made 
not  the  slightest  disturbance  after  he  reached  a 
seat.  At  the  close  he  conversed  in  as  intelligent 
a  way  as  his  intoxication  permitted.  The  con- 
versation need  not  be  recorded.  It  was  one  of 
several.  Five  nights  later,  twenty  minutes  after 
the  clock  had  made  its  lengthiest  strike,  a  sub- 
dued knock  was  heard  at  the  door  of  the  home 


"THY  TOUCH"  61 

in  which  the  missioner  was  being  entertained. 
The  burner  of  midnight  oil  hurried  downstairs. 
Jack  stood  in  the  doorway.  "Mr.  Williams,  I've 
got  to  settle  it,  and  I've  got  to  do  it  now."  Two 
souls  tarried  in  the  upper  room,  and  while  they 
tarried  He  came.  At  last  the  broken  cry  as- 
cended, "My  Father,  I  want  to  get  back  to  Thee. 
Help  me  to  walk  in  the  paths  of  righteousness, 
for  Jesus'  sake.    Amen." 

It  was  a  great  night  for  the  fisher  of  men. 
Like  the  wearied  disciples  of  old,  he  said  "It  is 
the  Lord." 

The  following  night,  Jack  Jr.,  Mamie  and 
Grace  accompanied  their  father  to  the  service, 
and  happily  united  their  voices  in  the  service  of 
praise. 

Grace — they  called  her  "Gay,"  for  that  was 
the  best  pronunciation  wee  Jean,  now  departed, 
could  once  give — told  several  of  her  schoolmates 
confidentially  in  her  mother's  words,  that  she  had 
a  "new  daddy."  And  the  subsequent  days  have 
proven  the  truth  of  her  assertion. 

The  closing  night  arrived.  The  Opera  House 
was  crowded,  and  from  the  opening  words,  "Our 
Father,"  until  the  "And  now  I  commend  you  to 
God,"  every  one  present  seemed  to  feel  that  this 
was  no  ordinary  religious  gathering.  An  oppor- 
tunity was  given  for  a  word  from  new  converts. 


62  MASTERED  MEN 

Tenderly,  prayerfully,  these  were  urged  to  in 
some  way  publicly  confess  their  new-found  Lord. 
There  was  a  hush  as  Jack  stood  erect.  In  a  low, 
clear  voice  he  addressed  himself  particularly  to 
the  half -hundred  young  men  at  the  back.  "I  do 
not  need  to  tell  you  what  I  was.  Two  weeks 
ago  it  would  have  been  inconceivable  to  you  and 
to  me  that  the  change  I  have  experienced  could 
take  place.  There  is  only  One  who  could  do  it, 
and  He  has  done  it.  I  cannot  say  more  now,  but 
if  you  want  to  know  all  about  it,  come  to  me  at 
the  close  of  this  service,  or  come  to  my  home." 

The  eyes  of  the  wife  at  his  side  were  red  again, 
but  the  tears  were  tears  of  joy.  "It  is  very  won- 
derful :  we  are  all  so  happy.  Oh,  how  glad  I  am 
that  these  services  have  been  held,"  were  her 
farewell  words. 

Jack's  hand  was  the  last  one  the  missioner 
clasped.  "Jack,  you  will  be  God's  man.  I  go, 
but  He  remains.  This  change  is  all  His  doing, 
and  He  will  hold  you  fast  if  you  only  trust  Him. 
Many  a  day  I'll  pray  for  you,  Jack.  Remember 
that  your  feelings  may  change,  but  your  pur- 
poses must  endure.    Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Williams;  God  helping  me  I 
won't  fail.  It'll  be  no  easy  business,  but  I'm  not 
in  the  fight  alone;  God's  in  it  too.     Good-bye." 

And  the  years  that  have  passed  since  these 


"THY  TOUCH"  63 

words  were  spoken  have  shown  clearly  enough 
that  Jack  is  not  fighting  alone.  Once  again 
prayerful  hearts  are  returning  thanks  for  the 
touch  that  "has  still  its  ancient  power." 


CHAPTER  VI 

"if  a  man  be  overtaken" 

George  fell — all  the  people  knew  that  was 
what  would  happen.  When  he  told  in  the  church 
that  he  was  going,  with  God's  help,  to  be  a 
Christian  and  "act  the  square,"  there  was  only 
one  at  the  close  of  the  meeting  to  say  an  encour- 
aging word  to  him;  the  rest  left  him  alone.  On 
the  whole,  they  did  not  believe  in  "results"  from 
Special  Services,  and,  despite  the  pastor's  fre- 
quent appeals  for  their  unprejudiced  and  whole- 
hearted support,  none  were  enthusiastic  over  the 
effort  being  put  forth,  and  many  were  antago- 
nistic. In  the  opinion  of  the  majority  the  regu- 
lar, "well-ordered"  Sabbath  services  gave  ample 
opportunity  for  those  who  wanted  to  lead  dif- 
ferent lives,  and  so  far  as  reaching  the  outsiders 
was  concerned,  the  endeavour  to  invite  per- 
sonally the  non-churchgoers  was  quite  unneces- 
sary— all  such  knew  they  were  welcome,  because 
the  fact  had  been  on  the  announcement  board 
outside  the  church  for  over  ten  years. 

The  missioner  was  told  on  all  sides  what 
a  notoriously  untrustworthy  man  George  was: 

64 


'IF  A  MAN  BE  OVERTAKEN"  65 

"You  see,  we  know  his  past,  and  you  have  been 
here  only  two  weeks,  or  you'd  know  better  than 
to  put  any  faith  in  what  he  did  and  said  last 
night.  It  was  just  a  passing  emotion,  and  it 
won't  mean  anything."  So  George  fulfilled  their 
expectations  when  he  returned  from  the  city 
uproariously  drunk  one  night  three  weeks  after 
the  mission  closed. 

The  morning  following  the  outbreak  the  min- 
ister's wife  made  a  special  trip  down  street.  The 
door  of  the  carpenter's  shop  was  fortunately 
open,  and  George  was  leaning  against  his  bench 
looking,  as  he  felt,  far  from  happy.  Pleasantly 
the  little  woman  greeted  him,  and  passed  on. 
Then,  with  an  exquisite  piece  of  deception,  she 
appeared  to  have  a  sudden  after-thought,  and 
turning  quickly,  she  said,  "Oh,  George,  the  doors 
in  the  pantry  cupboard  are  so  swollen  that  I 
cannot  close  them.   Could  you  fix  them  for  me?" 

The  carpenter  looked  wearily  at  her.  "I  ain't 
feeling  much  like  fixing  anything,  Mrs.  Lamb, 
but  I'd  try  to  do  most  anything  for  you." 

"Thank  you,  George,"  was  the  reply,  "I  be- 
lieve you  would;  come  as  soon  as  you  can." 

George  had  said  what  was  true ;  he  believed  in 
Mrs.  Lamb,  and  what  was  still  better,  he  felt 
that  she  believed  in  him.  When,  on  the  night  of 
his  confession,  she  took  his  hand  and  said,  "I'm 
so  glad,  George,"  he  valued  her  word  and  tone, 


66  MASTERED  MEN 

and  look  and  hand-clasp,  as  only  the  friendless 
man  can. 

But  George  was  thoroughly  disheartened  to- 
day. Everybody  knew  what  he  had  said  in  the 
meeting,  and  by  now  they  would  know  that  he 
had  failed.  Yet  no  one  would  blame  him  more 
than  he  blamed  himself.  He  called  himself  a 
fool  for  going  to  the  city.  The  business  could 
have  been  done  equally  well  by  correspondence. 
From  the  time  he  decided  to  go  he  feared  that 
he  would  return  home  intoxicated.  He  was  quite 
aware  of  a  terrible  craving,  that  he  knew  only 
too  well  made  it  dangerous  for  him  to  frequent 
the  old  haunts  so  soon,  but  in  spite  of  inner  warn- 
ings he  made  up  his  mind  to  go,  so  that  the  battle 
was  lost  before  the  temptation  was  actually  met. 

Twice  that  afternoon  George  took  up  a  few 
tools  to  go  to  the  Manse  in  response  to  Mrs. 
Lamb's  request,  and  twice  he  put  them  down 
again.  The  prison  cell  would  have  been  entered 
with  less  fear  than  the  Manse  that  day.  He  felt 
he  had  betrayed  one  of  the  best  friends  he  had 
ever  had.  And  so  night  came,  and  the  pantry 
doors  were  untouched. 

Family  prayers  were  about  to  be  conducted 
at  the  Manse.  Baby  Jean  was  on  mother's  knee, 
and  Harold's  chair  was  close  to  father's.  Just 
before  kneeling  the  good  wife  said  quietly: 
"Please  remember  George,  papa."     There  were 


"IF  A  MAN  BE  OVERTAKEN"  67 

tears  in  her  eyes  when  the  petition  was  offered 
"for  those  who  have  failed,"  and  a  whispered 
"Amen"  followed  each  clause  that  was  uttered  in 
behalf  of  George. 

The  following  morning  George  made  his  way 
to  the  Manse  and  attended  to  the  pantry  doors. 
When  the  work  was  finished,  Mrs.  Lamb  led  the 
way  through  the  dining-room  to  the  front  door. 
Her  hand  rested  on  the  door-knob,  and  she 
seemed  in  no  hurry  to  let  George  out.  It  was 
evident  she  wanted  to  say  something,  but  the 
words  did  not  easily  come. 

At  last  George  broke  the  silence,  and  his  voice 
quivered  with  penitence  as  he  looked  for  a  mo- 
ment into  Mrs.  Lamb's  sympathetic  eyes.  "I 
suppose  you've  heard  all  about  it,  Mrs.  Lamb, 
and  the  mess  I've  made  of  things*?" 

"Yes,  George,  I  know,  and  I'm  so  sorry;  but 
you  are  going  to  win  yet:  God's  going  to  help 
you  win.  Perhaps,  George,  you  trusted  too  much 
in  your  own  strength,  and  you  forget  how  weak 
we  all  are  when  we  stand  alone.  You  know  the 
hymn  that  says — 'Christ  will  hold  me  fast'? 
You  cannot  get  along  without  Him,  George. 
Tell  Him  all  about  it,  when  you  and  He  are 
alone,  and  ask  forgiveness,  and,  George,  I  know 
God  can  and  will  make  you  a  good,  strong,  true 
man;  He  loves  you,  and  we  love  you." 

"You  are  going  to  win  yet,"  and  "He  loves 


68  MASTERED  MEN 

you,  and  we  love  you,"  were  sentences  that  gave 
the  man,  overtaken  in  a  fault,  new  hope.  Deep 
yearnings  were  in  his  heart  as  he  walked  back 
to  the  shop.  He  believed  his  better  moments 
were  his  truest  moments,  and  yet  it  seemed  to 
him  that  no  one  except  Mrs.  Lamb  credited  him 
with  noble  aspirations.  He  knew  very  well  that 
there  were  Christian  people  who  were  suspicious 
and  unsympathetic  toward  him,  and  so  his  better 
nature  seemed  to  retire  in  their  presence. 

Later  on  he  told  how  he  used  to  feel  like  say- 
ing, "Why  won't  you  believe  in  me,  and  stand  by 
me,  and  give  me  a  fighting  chance'?"  Often  he 
felt  like  a  man  who  had  been  injured,  and  who 
needed  support  until  he  could  reach  a  place  of 
safety;  and  yet  few  did  more  than  look  with 
disgust  on  him,  and  think  it  unlikely  that  he 
could  make  the  journey  without  falling.  But, 
despite  his  weakness  and  his  sin,  George  believed 
there  were  possibilities  of  noble  living  even  for 
him. 

The  following  Sabbath  he  was  back  in  his 
place  in  church,  a  humble,  penitent  man.  The 
sermon  that  day  was  different  from  the  ones  the 
people  were  used  to  hearing;  not  that  it  was 
better,  for  all  Mr.  Lamb's  sermons  were  of  a 
high  order,  but  it  had  an  element  that  was  un- 
usual, an  element  of  great  tenderness.  The 
text  was:   "Go,   tell  His  disciples  and  Peter." 


"IF  A  MAN  BE  OVERTAKEN"  69 

Peter's  past  traitorous  conduct  was  graphically 
pointed  out,  but  so  also  was  his  weeping.  "We 
cannot  think  too  harshly  of  our  sins,"  said  the 
preacher,  "but  we  may  think  too  exclusively  of 
them.  Peter  thought  of  his  sins,  but  he  also 
thought  of  His  Saviour,  and  when  he  saw  his 
Risen  Lord,  the  erring  but  penitent  disciple  said : 
'Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee,'  and  the  Mas- 
ter forgave  all  and  sent  him  out  to  service." 

The  God  whom  the  minister  was  accustomed 
to  preach  about  was  a  splendid,  strong,  but  rather 
pitiless  Being;  now  they  heard  of  a  loving,  pitiful 
Father  who  was  ever  seeking  those  who  had 
turned  from  Him,  and  who  was  more  than  ready 
to  receive  them  as  they  turned  again  home.  All 
He  wanted  was  to  hear  from  their  own  lips, 
"Father,  I  have  sinned."  That  confession  opened 
Heaven's  wardrobe  for  the  man  made  disrepu- 
table by  wandering. 

At  the  close  of  the  evening  service  George 
accepted  Mrs.  Lamb's  invitation  to  "slip  in  and 
have  a  cup  of  cocoa."  "Just  the  three  of  us," 
she  added.  "You  know  the  way;  walk  right  in." 
Hurriedly  she  passed  on  to  give  kindly  greetings 
to  a  few  strangers  she  had  noticed. 

For  nearly  two  hours  George  and  the  minister 
sat  in  the  glow  of  the  firelight.  It  was  a  great 
relief  to  the  disheartened  man  to  be  with  those 
who  knew  all,  and  who  yet  loved  him,  and  who, 


70  MASTERED  MEN 

by  their  faith  in  him,  gave  him  a  little  more  faith 
in  himself  and  in  God. 

Referring  to  his  drinking  habit,  he  said, 
"Sometimes  I  feel  I'd  rather  drop  dead  in  my 
tracks  than  touch  it  again;  and  then  there  are 
other  days  when  it  seems  as  if  some  slumbering 
devil  had  awakened  within  me,  and  I'm  so  crazy 
for  it  that  I'd  give  the  whole  of  Canada,  if  I 
had  it,  for  another  drink."  Then,  after  a  pause, 
he  continued,  "I  suppose  a  man  shouldn't  try  to 
blame  his  sin  on  others,  but  one  of  the  earliest 
things  I  can  remember,  Mr.  Lamb,  is  being  held 
in  my  mother's  arms  and  putting  my  hands 
around  the  beer  jug  while  she  gave  me  a  drink. 
Many  a  night,  when  I  was  'knee-high  to  a  grass- 
hopper' as  we  say,  I  have  clung  to  her  skirt,  as 
she  dragged  me  from  bar  to  bar,  around  High 
Street  and  George  Street  in  old  Glasgow.  I 
guess  my  father  and  mother  were  drunk  every 
Saturday  night  for  five  years.  One  night  I  can 
remember  as  clear  as  if  it  was  only  yesterday. 
It  was  the  time  of  the  Glasgow  Fair,  and  I  was 
wishing  they'd  go  home.  I  must  have  been  about 
six  years  old,  and  my  sister  Janet  was  two  years 
younger,  and  then  there  was  a  baby  they  called 
Bobbie.  Mother  had  Bobbie  fastened  around 
her  with  an  old  shawl.  She  and  father  had  been 
on  a  spree  all  the  evening.  Father  was  leaning 
against  a  lamp-post,  just  drunk  enough  to  say 


«IF  A  MAN  BE  OVERTAKEN"  71 

the  fool  things  that  amuse  some  of  them  folks 
who  don't  think  anything  about  the  big  price 
somebody  is  paying  for  that  kind  of  fun.  Maybe 
you  think  it's  queer  of  me  to  talk  that  way,  when 
God  knows  I've  been  guilty  enough  myself. 
Well!  Let  me  finish  my  story,  anyway.  My 
mother  was  dead  drunk,  sitting  on  the  curbstone 
near  him,  and  maybe  Bobbie  was  stupefied  with 
liquor  like  I  had  been  many  a  time.  Once  in  a 
while  she'd  rouse  up,  and  press  her  hands  against 
her  maddened  head  and  shriek  all  kinds  of  curses. 
Police!  why,  Mr.  Lamb,  the  Glasgow  police 
couldn't  have  handled  the  crowds  that  was  drunk 
them  days.  I've  seen  hundreds  of  drunken  men 
and  women  in  one  night  around  Rotten  Row 
and  Shuffle  Lane,  and  other  streets  near  the  cor- 
ner of  George  and  High  Streets :  so  long  as  they 
didn't  get  too  awful  bad  the  police  let  them 
alone.  Mother  was  a  very  devil  when  she  got 
fighting.  I've  heard  father  brag  about  what  she 
could  do  in  that  line.  When  she  used  to  roll  up 
her  sleeves  for  a  fight,  she  was  like  a  maddened 
beast.  I  tell  you,  there  isn't  much  in  the  fighting 
line  I  haven't  seen;  but  it  makes  me  kind  of 
shudder  yet  when  I  think  of  how  she'd  punch, 
and  kick,  and  scratch,  and  all  the  time  she'd  be 
using  language  that  would  make  a  decent  man's 
blood  run  cold.  You  were  saying  something 
about  'sacred  memories  around  the  word  "moth- 


72  MASTERED  MEN 

er"  '  in  one  of  your  sermons,  but  that  was  the 
kind  of  mother  I  had,  Mr.  Lamb. 

"It  must  have  been  near  Sunday  morning  when 
somebody  helped  to  get  us  home.  Janet  and  me 
had  been  sleeping  in  the  gutter,  and  I  can  remem- 
ber the  time  they  had  getting  father  and  mother 
up  the  stairs  in  the  'Close.'  Somebody  slipped 
near  the  top,  and  there  was  a  heap  of  us  jammed 
against  the  wall  at  the  turning  of  the  stairs.  But 
we  children  were  used  to  bruises,  and  we  learned 
to  keep  quiet,  or  we'd  only  get  more  for  our 
trouble.  I  likely  cried  myself  to  sleep  on  the 
rotten  old  floor,  and  I  suppose  I'd  never  have 
remembered  any  more  about  it  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  Bobbie.  In  the  morning  the  poor  wee  chap 
was  dead.  He  must  have  died  through  neglect; 
pretty  close  to  murder  I  call  it.  Did  the  death 
make  any  difference  to  the  parents'?  Not  likely! 
At  least  I  never  remember  them  any  different.  I 
was  ten  years  old  when  my  mother  died,  and  she 
died  through  stumbling  in  a  drunken  fight;  her 
head  struck  the  curbstone,  and  she  never  spoke 
again.  After  her  death  I  was  taken  care  of  in 
one  of  the  Orphanages  until  I  was  sent  to  Can- 
ada. But  what  I  often  wonder  about,  Mr.  Lamb, 
is  whether  God  will  be  hard  on  those  of  us  who've 
had  parents  like  that,  and  who've  been  brought 
up  where  we  didn't  get  a  fair  chance.  God  only 
knows  what  we  kids  had  to  see  and  hear  and 


"IF  A  MAN  BE  OVERTAKEN"  7S 

suffer.  People  don't  make  any  allowance  for  bad 
blood,  and  bad  food,  and  bad  treatment,  except 
in  cattle.  I  wonder  if  God  does'?  Yes,  I  know 
I'm  having  a  chance  now,  and  yet  God  must  pity 
even  me  when  He  knows  how  I've  been  handi- 
capped for  these  years;  but  some  of  those  boys 
live  and  die  right  there,  and  they  don't  get  even 
the  chance  I've  had.  It's  easy  for  folks  who 
know  nothing  about  it  to  say  the  people 
should  get  out  of  such  places;  but  some  of  them 
are  like  heathen,  they  don't  know  there's  any- 
thing better.  What  did  I  know  about  a  different 
kind  of  life?  Where  could  I  have  gone?  Who 
would  have  wanted  me?  How  could  a  street 
youngster  get  out  of  the  place,  where  a  good 
many  of  his  meals  were  picked  off  the  streets  and 
out  of  the  ash-barrels,  and  he  never  had  two 
coppers  ahead?  And  there  were  thousands  like 
I  was.  I  think  about  these  things  once  in  a  while, 
when  I'm  alone  in  the  shop,  and  I've  sometimes 
thought  it  was  well-nigh  a  crime  to  allow  children 
to  be  born  in  such  hell-like  places.  And  there 
are  some  people  have  no  right  to  be  fathers  and 
mothers  at  all." 

It  was  only  rarely  that  George  unburdened  his 
mind  to  such  an  extent;  but  Mr.  Lamb  gave  him 
"right-of-way"  that  night,  and  many  perplexities 
were  expressed  with  a  candour  that  gave  the 
minister  a  larger  sympathy  with  the  handicapped 


74.  MASTERED  MEN 

man,  and  a  resolve  to  deal  more  tenderly  withi 
men  of  George's  type  who  had  such  terrific  battles 
to  keep  the  body  under. 

At  the  close  of  the  conversation  the  evening 
prayer  especially  commended  George  to  the 
Father's  care,  and  while  the  encouraged  man  was 
walking  back  to  his  dwelling-place  with  thankful 
heart,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lamb  were  kneeling  to- 
gether, and  in  earnest  petition  were  placing  their 
home  and  all  they  might  ever  possess  at  the  ser- 
vice of  the  One  in  whose  hands  things  common- 
place may  be  mighty  with  blessing. 

The  missioner  has  been  permitted  to  visit  again 
the  Manse  where  George  did  a  bit  of  carpenter- 
ing. It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  find  that  George 
was  one  of  those  invited  to  the  evening  meal.  Dur- 
ing the  after-supper  conversation  he  spoke  confi- 
dentially to  the  visitor  of  the  mistress  of  the 
Manse.  "She's  the  greatest  little  woman  in  this 
country.  God  knows  I'd  have  still  been  on  the 
down-grade  but  for  her ;  she  never  let  me  go.  She 
told  me  one  night  how  she'd  told  God  that  she 
couldn't  go  to  heaven  and  leave  me  outside,  and 
thank  God  He's  taking  her  at  her  word." 

The  midnight  chat  which  ministers  are  accus- 
tomed to  have  on  such  occasions  revealed  the 
story  of  George's  many  and  sore  temptations  and 
hard  battles,  and  of  how  the  unfailing  faith  and 
patience  of  one  in  the  Manse  had  heartened  the 


"IF  A  MAN  BE  OVERTAKEN"  75 

discouraged  man,  had  led  him  into  active  service, 
and  had  brought  a  new  sense  of  responsibility 
and  possibility  to  many  of  the  church  members 
who  were  beginning  to  practice  Paul's  injunc- 
tion: "If  a  man  be  overtaken  in  a  fault,  ye 
which  are  spiritual  restore  such  an  one  in  the 
spirit  of  meekness,  considering  thyself,  lest  thou 
also  be  tempted." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    SUPERINTENDENT'S    VISIT 

"Hope  to  visit  your  field  Wednesday,  February 
nineteenth — arrive  M Station  mid- 
night, eighteenth.     Andrew  Ransom." 

The  Western  minister  had  been  "house- 
cleaning"  his  study,  and  in  separating  the  valued 
from  the  useless  he  ran  across  the  above  telegram, 
which  had  been  buried  away  for  several  years. 
He  handled  it  almost  reverently  and  then  put  it 
away  in  his  Home  Mission  folder  for  future 
reference.  The  story  connected  with  it  was  told 
one  night  as  the  missioner  sat  after  the  evening's 
service  in  the  quiet  of  the  prairie  manse,  exchang- 
ing reminiscences  of  one  of  the  greatest  and  best- 
loved  men  that  ever  crossed  the  prairie  provinces 
— Andrew  Ransom,  the  great  Home  Missionary 
Superintendent. 

Within  fifteen  minutes  from  the  time  the 
student  missionary  received  the  above  message, 
the  people  in  McLean's  general  store,  in  Steven- 
son's boarding-house,  and  in  Mallagh's  black- 
smith's shop  had  heard  the  good  news,  and  all 

76 


THE  SUPERINTENDENT'S  VISIT       77 

knew  that  Wednesday  the  nineteenth  would  be 
a  great  day  for  those  whose  homes  the  old  Doctor 
could  visit,  and  for  the  people  who  could  get  into 
the  little  church  at  night. 

Those  who  had  met  and  heard  Dr.  Ransom 
before,  vied  with  each  other  in  recalling  events 
connected  with  his  former  visits.  They  remem- 
bered his  appeal  for  their  "fair  share"  of  money 
to  help  build  the  little  church.  Everybody  said 
the  amount  could  not  be  raised  until  Dr.  Ransom 
came,  but  after  he  had  painted  his  word-picture 
of  their  glorious  heritage — after  he  had  pleaded 
that  that  heritage  should  never  become  "the  wild 
and  woolly  West" — after  he  had  shown  the  Gos- 
pel as  the  "antiseptic  influence"  in  the  life  of  the 
great  Westland — after  he  told  them  what  they 
got  their  land  for  and  what  it  was  worth  that 
day,  and  after  that  strong  voice,  with  its  down- 
right sincerity,  had  been  lifted  in  prayer,  every- 
body in  the  dining-room  of  the  boarding-house 
knew  the  amount  was  raised. 

And  then  that  hand-clasp,  and  that  identifica- 
tion of  himself  with  the  poorest  settler's  prob- 
lems, and  sorrows — who  could  forget  these 
things'? 

"D'ye  mind,"  said  Dick  McNabb,  "the  time 
he  was  here  just  after  Alex.  McLaren's  son  was 
killed  on  the  railway?  Well,  sir,  I'll  never 
forget  seeing  them  two  old  men  standing  with 


78  MASTERED  MEN 

hands  clasped.  The  Doctor  looked  as  if  it  might 
'a  been  his  own  boy  what  was  killed.  'Mc- 
Laren,' he  said,  Tm  sorry  for  you.  I  once  lost 
a  boy,  and  I  know  what  it  means' ;  then  he  whis- 
pered something,  and  Alex,  wiped  away  the  tears 
as  he  still  clung  to  the  old  Doctor's  hand,  and  I 
guess  they  stood  that  way  for  two  or  three  min- 
utes." 

"Well,  sir,  you  bet  Grant  Sinclair  won't  miss 
Wednesday  night,"  put  in  Dan  McLean  from 
behind  the  counter.  "D'ye  mind  when  Dr. 
Ransom  was  here,  Grant  couldn't  walk  at  all! 
Say !  will  I  ever  forget  that  day  in  the  Fall  when 
he  fell  off  the  fence  on  to  the  scythe  he  was 
carrying?  The  gash  was  a  foot  long  and  there 
was  no  doctor  within  thirty  miles,  and  the  road 
wasn't  as  good  as  it  is  now,  and  it  ain't  anything 
to  write  home  about  even  yet.  Bill  Grayson  was 
the  only  one  who  had  the  grit  to  sew  the  gash  up, 
and  it  was  fourteen  hours  before  the  doctor  got 
here.  Nobody  thought  Grant  would  get  over  it; 
he  lost  so  much  blood.  He'd  been  on  his  back 
about  two  months,  I  mind,  when  Dr.  Ransom 
came.  It  was  one  of  them  dirty  days  when  it 
don't  know  whether  to  snow  or  rain,  but  the  old 
Doctor  had  heard  about  Grant  and  was  bound 
to  get  out  there.  The  folks  said  he  did  him  more 
good  than  the  regular  doctor  did.  Jim  Sinclair 
and  the  boys  had  rigged  up  a  pair  of  crutches  so's 


THE  SUPERINTENDENT'S  VISIT       79 

to  get  Grant  a-moving  around,  but  they  didn't 
make  a  very  swell  job  of  it.  Well,  sir,  about 
three  weeks  later  the  slickest  pair  of  crutches  you 
ever  set  eyes  on  come  out  here  with  some  express 
of  mine.  They  was  addressed  to  Grant  and 
marked  'Rusk.'  Mind  you,  they  come  from 
Toronto,  and  they  fitted  Grant  as  if  he'd  been 
measured  for  them.  Jimmy  said  after  they  got 
the  crutches  he  remembered  the  old  Doctor  kind 
o'  spanning  the  quilt  along  Grant's  side  while 
he  was  talking,  but  he  never  paid  no  particular 
attention  to  it,  but  he  says  that's  how  he  must  'a 
got  the  measure." 

The  days  between  the  thirteenth  and  the 
nineteenth  were  spent  by  Mr.  Stewart,  the  stu- 
dent missionary,  in  covering  the  district,  so  that 
all  the  scattered  settlers  should  know  of  Dr. 
Ransom's  visit.  On  Tuesday  morning  he  bor- 
rowed an  extra  robe,  and,  hitching  up  his  team 

of  bronchos,  started  on  his  journey  to  M 

station.  The  roads  were  heavy,  and  twenty-five 
miles  was  a  hard  journey  through  the  unpacked 
snow.  By  mid-afternoon  he  reached  the  rail- 
way, and  soon  had  his  ponies  comfortably  stabled 
in  a  near-by  barn. 

About  midnight  he  tramped  through  the  deep 
snow  to  the  dimly-lighted  station.  The  night 
operator  reported  the  train  as  an  hour  late,  with 
the  additional  information  that  she  would  prob- 


80  MASTERED  MEN 

ably  lose  a  little  more  time  on  the  grade  whicK 
lay  about  ten  miles  away. 

Shortly  before  two  o'clock  the  welcome  whistle 
was  heard,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  the  midnight 

express  slowed  down  for  M .    The  tall  figure 

of  the  Superintendent  was  behind  the  brakeman, 
on  the  steps  of  the  day-coach,  and  there  was  a 
wave  of  recognition  before  the  cordial  hand-clasp 
and  words  of  greeting  could  be  given.     "We'll 
just  wait  till  she  pulls  out,"  said  the  Superin- 
tendent, as  Mr.  Stewart  started  to  move  away 
after  the  exchange  of  greetings.     "Yon  operator 
has  the  tongue."     His  duties  performed  at  the 
baggage  car,  the  operator  returned  to  the  office 
dragging  a  heavy  trunk  along  the  plank  plat- 
form.     "Man!   but   that's  a  great  muscle  you 
have,"  said  the  Doctor  genially,  and  in  less  than 
a  five-minute  conversation  he  knew  the  man's 
name,  Old  Land  home,  length  of  time  in  Canada, 
and  church  relationship.    As  he  gripped  the  hand 
in  bidding  good-night,  he  got  in  a  message  that 
the  operator  has  never  forgotten.     In  recalling 
the  visit  to  the  writer  many  months  later,  he  said, 
"He's  a  gran'  man  that:  he'd  be  a  wechty  man 
gin  he  lived  in  Edinburgh.    He  mak's  you  think." 
"Well,   Doctor,"    said   Mr.   Stewart   as   they 
neared  the  place  where  a  bed  had  been  prepared,, 
"you'll  be  glad  enough  to  get  right  to  rest." 


THE  SUPERINTENDENT'S  VISIT       81 

"How  far  are  we  from  vour  field,  Mr.  Stew- 
art?' 

"About  twenty-five  miles,"  was  the  reply. 
"Well,  then,  if  your  team  is  fit,  I  think  we'll 
not  bother  about  bed  just  now,  but  get  out  there." 
Despite  the  protests  that  were  made  in  the  Doc- 
tor's interests,  there  was  a  kindly  insistence  that 
resulted  in  the  bronchos  being  immediately  har- 
nessed for  the  return  journey.     In  the  month  of 
February,  with  deep  snow  and  zero  weather,  a 
twenty-five  mile  drive  between  three  and  eight 
a.m.  is  by  no  means  a  pleasure  trip.    As  the  little 
animals  ploughed  their  way  through  the  drifts, 
the  Superintendent  every  now  and  again  raised 
his  mouth  above  his  coat  collar  to  express  his  ad- 
miration.   "A  gr-reat  team  that — a  gr-reat  team." 
The  day  was  dawning  as  on  Wednesday  the 
19th   the   student  missionary   and   the   eagerly- 
looked-for  visitor,   frost-covered   and   shivering, 
drove  up  to  Mackenzie's  barn.     Mackenzie  and 
his  wife  were  just  getting  on  the  fires,  and  were 
not  a  little  surprised  at  the  early  arrival  of  their 
distinguished  guest.     Embarrassment  could  not, 
however,  remain  long  in  any  home  where  Dr. 
Ransom  entered.     Everybody  but  the  indolent 
admired  and  loved  him,  and  there  seemed  to  be 
no  circumstance  or  combination  of  circumstances 
but  he  could  adapt  himself  to. 

After  breakfast  Mr.  Stewart  was  ready  enough 


82  MASTERED  MEN 

to  get  a  few  hours'  rest,  and  having  conferred 
with  Mrs.  Mackenzie  regarding  the  readiness  of 
the  spare  room  for  the  Superintendent,  he  invited 
the  latter  to  retire.  "Did  you  think  I  came  out 
here  to  get  a  sleep,  my  boy?  When  would  we 
visit  the  field?  No!  no!  thank  you."  Protests 
were  again  futile.  "I  have  to  meet  two  Commit- 
tees on  Saturday,  in  Winnipeg,  and  you  must  get 

me  back  to  M Station  in  time  for  the  1 1 130 

to-morrow  morning.  What  about  a  horse?  Can 
we  get  right  away?" 

"Ain't  the  old  Doctor  a  horse  to  work,"  said 
Mackenzie  to  Stewart  while  hitching  up  his  best 
driver. 

Hurried  but  helpful  and  purposeful  calls  were 
made  until  it  was  time  to  return  for  the  evening 
service.  The  visit  that  stands  out  most  clearly 
in  the  Missionary's  memory  was  one  made  at  the 
noon-hour.  Alex.  McDonald's  place  was  the  one 
spot  in  the  whole  district  where  no  man  who 
had  any  respect  for  his  stomach  would  ever  dream 
of  dining.  Few,  indeed,  cared  even  to  enter  the 
dirty  little  shack.  And  so  it  was  not  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  the  missionary  was  planning  to 
pass  McDonald's  on  the  up  trip,  and  to  reach  one 
of  those  bright,  clean  centres  of  hospitality  that 
are  usually  to  be  found  in  even  the  most  isolated 
district.  But  "the  best  laid  plans  of  mice  and 
men  gang  aft  agley." 


THE  SUPERINTENDENT'S  VISIT       83 

"Who  lives  in  the  shack  on  the  hillside*?" 
asked  the  Superintendent. 

"A  family  named  McDonald,"  was  the  reply, 
"but  they  never  enter  a  church — they  live  like 
pigs,  and  I  think  we  had  better  leave  calling  there 
until  we  see  how  our  time  holds  out." 

"We'll  go  there  for  dinner,"  was  the  almost 
brusque  response  of  the  Superintendent.  Stewart 
laughed  incredulously. 

"I  don't  think  you  could  swallow  a  homoeo- 
pathic pill  in  that  shack,  Doctor." 

"We'll  go  there  for  dinner,  Mr.  Stewart.  It'll 
do  them  good." 

"No  finer  missionary  stands  in  shoe-leather 
than  Caven  Stewart"  was  a  testimony  that  all 
who  knew  him  heartily  agreed  with,  but  Stewart 
had  an  absolute  horror  of  dirt,  and  it  was 
with  feelings  of  distressful  anticipation  that  he 
dragged  open  McDonald's  rickety  apology  for  a 
gate,  and  drove  across  the  rough  swamp  to  the 
dilapidated  shack  on  the  hillside. 

The  barking  of  the  dog  brought  faces  to  the 
little  four-paned  window.  "Drive  slowly !  Give 
them  time,  give  them  time,"  said  the  Superin- 
tendent, as  the  faces  quickly  disappeared.  A  few 
fowls  fluttered  from  within  the  shack,  and  a 
family  pet  in  the  shape  of  a  pig  grunted  disap- 
proval at  being  forced  to  take  an  outside  berth. 
For  fully  three  minutes  there  was  such  a  house- 


84  MASTERED  MEN 

cleaning  as  the  old  shack  had  not  known  for 
many  a  month. 

Alex.  McDonald,  pulling  a  dirty  corduroy 
coat  around  him,  sauntered  over  to  where  the 
visitors  were  getting  out  of  the  cutter.  He 
"guessed"  that  the  Superintendent  and  the  stu- 
dent could  find  accommodation  for  their  horse, 
and  a  bite  for  themselves  during  the  noon  hour. 
"We  ha'ena  got  much  of  a  place,"  he  said,  as  the 
Superintendent  lowered  his  head  to  enter  the 
miserable  shack. 

Each  member  of  the  family  received  a  cheery 
greeting  from  the  magnetic  superintendent,  who 
never  seemed  at  a  loss  to  say  the  fitting  word. 
Mrs.  McDonald  was  profuse  in  explanations  and 
apologies.  "We  wesna  expectin'  onybody,  and 
these  dark  mornings  it  seems  to  be  noon  afore 
you  can  get  turned  round."  The  visitors  entered 
sympathetically  into  the  various  reasons  why 
things  "wesna  just  straight." 

To  this  day  Caven  Stewart  remembers  the 
deepened  convictions  that  came  to  him  of  the 
Superintendent's  possibilities,  as  he  watched  him 
enjoy  his  dinner.  By  various  excuses  Stewart 
had  reduced  his  own  portion  to  the  minimum 
when  the  pork  and  potatoes  were  dished  up,  and 
even  then  more  food  went  to  his  pocket  than  to 
his  mouth.  But  not  so  with  the  Superintendent. 
Not  only  did  he  have  a  liberal  first  supply,  but 


THE  SUPERINTENDENT'S  VISIT       85 

actually  passed  back  his  plate  for  more,  meantime 
complimenting  McDonald  on  the  gr-reat  potatoes 
he  grew  and  the  fine  pork  he  raised,  and  inci- 
dentally remarking  that  the  best  potatoes  and 
the  finest  pork  were  easily  spoiled  in  the  hands 
of  an  incompetent  cook.  When  he  told  Mrs. 
McDonald  that  the  dinner  was  just  as  he  liked 
it — well-cooked  and  plain — his  place  in  her 
highest  esteem  was  fixed.  That  he  was  a  man 
of  excellent  judgment  she  had  no  doubt. 

McDonald's  Old  Land  home  was  well-known 
to  the  Superintendent,  and  as  scenes  familiar  to 
both  were  recalled,  geniality  prevailed. 

At  the  close  of  the  meal  the  Doctor  asked  for 
"The  Book."  Anxious  looks  were  exchanged  by 
the  occupants  of  the  shack,  and  ere  long  three 
members  of  the  family  were  uniting  in  the  search. 
When  at  last,  to  the  great  relief  of  the  searchers, 
a  dusty  but  unworn  Bible  was  produced,  the 
Superintendent  held  it  reverently  in  his  out- 
stretched hand.  Looking  squarely  at  the  head 
of  the  home,  he  said  with  a  yearning  that  no 
man  could  miss,  "Eh,  mon,  but  I'm  sorry — sorry 
it's  not  worn  more.  It's  the  best  piece  of  furni- 
ture you  have  in  the  house.  If  any  man  ought 
to  have  a  well-worn  Bible  it's  a  Highland  Scots- 
man." A  few  verses  were  impressively  read,  and 
then  for  the  first  time  in  its  history  the  miserable 


86  MASTERED  MEN 

shack  contained  a  group  kneeling  in  the  attitude 
of  prayer. 

There  were  no  meaningless  pleasantries  when 
the  little  company  arose.  It  seemed  as  though 
the  place  was  hallowed  ground.  A  man  and  his 
Maker  had  been  in  communion.  The  invitation 
to  "cast  thy  burden  upon  the  Lord"  had  been 
heeded,  and  with  an  exquisite  tenderness  the 
anxieties,  the  problems,  the  hopes  and  the  fears 
of  the  little  home  were  brought  to  the  Great 
Burden  Bearer. 

The  parting  was  little  short  of  affectionate. 
The  last  hand-clasp  was  McDonald's.  "Mc- 
Donald, I  can  scarcely  believe  you've  never  dark- 
ened the  kirk  door,  and  you  an  Aberfeldy  man. 
I  want  you  to  give  me  your  word  for  it  that  next 
Sabbath  morning  you  and  the  good  wife  and  the 
bairns  will  make  a  new  start  and  be  found  wor- 
shipping God.  Six  months  from  now  I  expect 
to  hear  from  Mr.  Stewart  that  you've  been  regu- 
lar in  attendance  at  the  house  of  God.  McDon- 
ald !  give  me  your  word  that  you'll  not  disappoint 
me — nor  Him!" 

No  words  came  from  McDonald's  lips,  but 
there  were  moistened  eyes  and  a  lingering  hand- 
clasp that  made  the  Superintendent's  heart  glad. 

When,  nine  months  later,  Stewart  was  leaving 
the  field  for  college,  and  was  reporting  conditions 
to    the    Superintendent,    he    wrote    as    follows: 


THE  SUPERINTENDENT'S  VISIT       87 

"You  will  remember  the  visit  I  did  not  want  to 
make  at  the  McDonalds.  May  God  forgive  me 
for  my  lack  of  interest  and  of  faith !  Since  last 
February  McDonald,  with  some  of  his  children, 
has  never  missed  a  service.  At  the  Communion 
in  June,  Rev.  Mr.  Rowatt  came  over  from  the 
Fort  and  welcomed  seven  new  members,  John 
McDonald,  his  wife,  and  their  son  Bruce  being 
among  the  number.  The  Bible  you  helped  them 
to  resurrect  has  been  much  'thumbed'  since  then. 
I  am  thankful  I  stayed  the  year  on  this  field.  To 
have  seen  the  change  that  has  taken  place  in  the 
shack  on  the  hillside  has  done  more  for  me  than 
the  whole  year's  course  in  Apologetics." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    COOKEE 

It  had  been  a  bitterly  cold  drive  across  what 
was  known  as  "The  Plains,"  and  the  student 
missionary  was  thankful  when  his  pony  reached 
the  shelter  of  the  jack-pines.  After  a  few  miles 
of  bush  a  small  "clearance"  was  reached.  The 
low-roofed  shack  standing  at  the  back  of  it  never 
looked  more  inviting  than  to-day;  but  though 
twenty-five  miles  from  the  "highway  of  com- 
merce," there  were  homes  still  more  remote  that 
had  been  expecting  a  visit  from  the  little  preacher 
for  some  time,  and  so,  despite  his  pony's  protest 
against  driving  by  even  poor  shelter  in  weather 
like  this,  he  had  regretfully  to  tell  her  she  might 
not  turn  in  that  road  to-day.  As  was  the  mis- 
sionary's custom  in  passing  any  dwellings,  he 
waved  his  greeting  in  the  direction  of  the  humble 
shack.  Before  he  had  gone  many  yards  the  good- 
natured  pioneer  farmer  was  outside  shouting  his 
"halloos,"  and,  on  being  heard,  signalled  for  the 
preacher  to  stop.  Making  his  way  through  the 
snow,  he  said,  "Ain't  you  going  to  give  us  a  call 
to-day"?     Better  come  in  and  get  thawed  out; 

soon  be  grubbing  time." 

88 


THE  COOKEE  89 

"Not  to-day,  Mac,  thanks,"  was  the  reply. 
"I've  been  to  your  place  pretty  often,  and  I 
thought  I  ought  to  make  the  end  of  this  road 
to-day." 

"Well,  if  you  won't  come  in,  I'll  tell  you  what 
I  was  a-wanting  to  ask  you.  There's  a  fellow  I'd 
like  you  to  see  awful  well.  Say!  do  you  call 
on  anybody  else  except  Protestants'?  You  do, 
eh?  Well,  I  wish  you'd  see  Jimmy  Hayson. 
He's  in  a  bad  fix.  They  shipped  him  home  from 
the  camp.  He  was  cookee  there,  and  I  guess  he 
couldn't  stand  that  kind  of  life.  His  stummick's 
gone  on  a  holiday.  Anyway,  he's  most  all  in.  It 
ain't  much  of  a  trail  to  follow,  but  after  you  pass 
Marston's  you'll  see  a  wood  road,  and  then,  if  you 
keep  your  eyes  skinned,  on  the  north  side  you'll 
see,  about  forty  rod  along,  a  foot  track — Jimmy 
ain't  got  any  team — just  follow  the  track,  and 
you'll  stumble  into  his  shack." 

The  second  stop  that  afternoon  was  at  Hay- 
son's.  It  was  a  poor  place  for  a  sick  man  to  be 
in.  The  entire  furnishings  of  the  home  would 
not  have  been  a  bargain  at  five  dollars.  The 
wife  was  most  grateful  for  the  visit,  and  before 
the  missionary  had  spoken  to  the  invalid,  she 
said,  "You  are  the  only  preacher  ever  in  our 
house;  and  will  you  make  a  bit  of  a  prayer  for 
Jimmy?"  A  few  flour  sacks  had  been  made  into 
a  curtain,  and  the  faithful  wife  pulled  them  aside 


90  MASTERED  MEN 

and  gazed  lovingly  at  the  sick  man,  and  then 
questioningly  at  the  missionary.  The  missionary 
felt  that  not  many  prayers  would  have  to  be  made 
for  Jimmy,  and  perhaps  there  was  an  increased 
tenderness  in  his  voice  as  it  was  lifted  to  the 
Friend  of  the  weary  and  heavy-laden.  The  five 
children  were  not  very  clear  as  to  what  was  going 
on,  and  during  the  devotions  the  dog  kept  up  a 
low  growl  of  distrust  at  the  whole  procedure,  but 
the  wasted  form  of  poor  Jimmy,  and  the  subdued 
sobs  of  the  wife,  overshadowed  minor  disturb- 
ances. 

It  was  the  first  of  almost  a  dozen  calls  during 
the  next  two  months.  A  round  trip  of  thirty-two 
miles  once  a  week  meant  something  over  unbeaten 
tracks;  but  Jimmy  was  in  need,  and  there  was 
only  One  Helper:  other  helpers  had  failed,  and 
Jimmy  was  pathetically  eager  for  something  he 
had  not  hitherto  received. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  fourth  visit,  the  wife 
called  the  visitor  as  far  away  from  the  sick  bed 
as  the  dimensions  of  the  little  shack  permitted. 
"Would  you" — the  voice  was  agitated — "would 

you .    Oh !  please,  you  won't  mind  me  asking, 

but  would  you  stay  for  dinner;  we've  never  had 
a  minister  to  take  a  bite  in  our  house,  and  Jim- 
my'd  be  so  pleased?" 

The  invitation  was  most  gladly  accepted. 
What  a  time  ensued !    How  the  poor  soul  exerted 


THE  COOKEE  91 

herself  to  prepare  that  meal!  It  was  over  an 
hour  before  the  "bite"  was  ready,  and  in  that 
hour  one  child  had  gone  over  two  miles.  The 
preacher  saw  her  fluttering  rags  as  she  ran  across 
the  snow.  He  saw  her  come  back  with  a  little 
newspaper  package.  It  contained  a  knife  and 
fork — two  miles,  that  the  preacher  might  have 
a  knife  and  fork !  The  meal  was  not  appetizing, 
but  after  the  trouble  it  had  cost,  no  man  with  a 
heart  could  leave  a  morsel  which  it  was  possible 
to  dispose  of. 

Day  by  day  Jimmy  weakened,  and  it  was 
evident  that  he  needed  attention  and  quiet,  such 
as  was  not  possible  in  the  one-roomed  shack. 
Could  he  gain  entrance  to  the  distant  hospital, 
and  was  it  possible  to  provide  anything  like  a 
satisfactory  conveyance  in  which  the  sick  man 
could  safely  make  the  journey  from  that  pioneer 
district*?  These  possibilities  especially  occupied 
the  mind  of  the  missionary  on  a  subsequent  visit. 

He  talked  to  the  now  worn-out  wife  about  the 
matter.  Prejudices  against  hospitals  were  very 
real  in  that  remote  district,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  she  could  be  convinced  that  such  a  course 
would  be  in  the  interest  of  the  family.  The  few 
neighbours  did  much  coming  and  going  for  the 
next  two  days,  and  such  blankets  and  wrappings 
as  the  community  afforded  were  provided  for  the 
cold  journey.     Bricks  and  hardwood  sticks  were 


m  MASTERED  MEN 

to  be  heated  and  placed  around  Jimmy  to  keep 
him  as  warm  as  possible.  Henry  Wallis  was  to 
make  the  trip  the  day  before  to  arrange  for  the  re- 
plenishing of  these,  and  for  some  nourishment 
for  the  sick  man,  at  three  selected  stopping- 
places. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  the  sleigh 
pulled  up  in  front  of  the  hospital.  The  sufferer 
had  stood  the  journey  better  than  was  expected. 
The  "Sisters"  soon  had  Jimmy  in  the  most  com- 
fortable bed  that  he  had  occupied  for  years. 

Two  days  later  the  missionary  called  at  the 
hospital  as  early  in  the  morning  as  he  was  per- 
mitted to.  Jimmy  knew  his  end  was  not  far 
distant.  He  could  speak  but  little,  and  in  order 
to  hear  the  feeble  whisper  it  was  necessary  to  put 
an  ear  close  to  the  patient's  lips.  Very  slowly 
the  words  came:  "Say — about — Shepherd." 
Once  more  the  Shepherd  Psalm  was  repeated 
with  its  message  for  those  whose  lives  are  over- 
shadowed. Jimmy's  eyes  spoke  his  thanks,  and 
tenderly  the  student  wiped  the  tears  off  the 
sunken  cheeks.  Something  else  was  wanted. 
Again  the  whisper  was  with  difficulty  under- 
stood: "Tell — about — rest."  It  was  the  words 
that  only  the  publican  Matthew  has  recorded 
that  Jimmy  wanted  to  hear. 

Slowly  they  were  repeated:  "Come  unto  Me, 
all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I 


THE  COOKEE  93 

will  give  you  rest."  Once  again  the  parched  lips 
moved :  "If — I — could — see  children — that's 
all."  The  eyes  were  so  irresistibly  pleading  that 
the  student  could  only  reply,  "I'll  try,  Jimmy." 

A  few  words  were  spoken  to  the  nurse.  How 
long  would  Jimmy  be  here*?  She  thought  he 
might  go  that  night.  Certainly  within  three  days 
the  end  would  come.  It  was  no  small  undertak- 
ing to  bring  a  family  such  as  the  Haysons'  into 
town.  Clothing  had  to  be  procured  in  order  that 
the  little  ones  might  be  protected  on  the  longest 
journey  any  of  them  had  ever  taken.  Their  own 
scanty  attire  would  afford  little  protection  from 
the  cold  wind.  And  so  hurried  visits  were  made 
to  a  few  homes,  and  to  the  stores  of  one  or  two 
merchants.  The  case  was  briefly  stated,  and  a 
dozen  hearts  instantly  kindled  into  kindness  for 
the  needy  ones  in  the  lonely  home.  A  wardrobe, 
such  as  the  Hayson  family  had  never  dreamed 
of,  was  soon  stowed  away  on  the  missionary's 
"jumper." 

Inside  of  two  hours  the  long,  cold  drive  was 
commenced.  At  each  shanty  and  shack  word  was 
given  as  to  the  sick  man's  condition,  and  what 
the  present  journey  was  for.  Within  five  miles 
of  the  lonely  home,  which  would  soon  be  the 
abode  of  the  fatherless  and  widow,  the  mission- 
ary stopped  for  the  night.  In  the  dimly-lighted 
shack  of  Sandy  MacGregor  Jimmy's  last  request 


94  MASTERED  MEN 

was  made  known.  MacGregor  rose  from  a  nail- 
keg  on  which  he  was  sitting,  and  said  slowly  and 
emphatically,  "Well,  if  Jimmy  wants  to  see  the 
children,  he's  a-going  to  see  'em." 

The  student  grasped  the  roughened  hand  of 
the  speaker  gratefully.  "I  knew  I  could  count 
on  you,  Mac.  Thanks.  I'm  tired,  so  I'll  say 
good-night.    I  can  sleep  now  that  that's  settled." 

Before  the  missionary  appeared  the  next  morn- 
ing, Mac  had  everything  ready  for  driving 
Jimmy's  family  into  the  town  where  the  husband 
and  father  was  rapidly  nearing  his  end. 

The  horses  were  driven  as  hard  as  was  con- 
sistent with  mercy.  Jimmy  was  still  alive,  the 
Sister  told  them  as  they  stood  in  the  hall.  In  a 
moment  they  were  beside  the  bed.  It  was  one 
of  those  scenes  that  live  in  the  memory.  The 
sobbing  wife,  kissing  again  and  again  the  poor, 
wan  face.  The  little  ones  weeping,  perhaps  more 
in  sympathy  with  the  mother  than  on  account  of 
their  own  realization  of  the  coming  sorrow. 
Quietly  the  large  screen  was  placed  around  the 
group  at  the  bedside,  and  for  a  few  moments  the 
family  was  left  alone.  The  journey  had  been 
accomplished  just  in  time.  In  less  than  an  hour 
Jimmy  was  gone.  His  last  request  was  for  the 
passages  of  Scripture  mentioned  above.  "Yes, 
that's  it,"  he  whispered,  "rest — rest."  The  wast- 
ed arm  was  raised  a  little  as  if  he  would  put  it 


THE  COOKEE  95 

around  the  missionary's  shoulder,  but  the  poor 
Cookee's  strength  had  departed.  They  saw  he 
would  say  something  more,  and  ears  were  alert 

to  catch  his  every  word.    "I — think "    Then 

there  was  a  long  pause,  and  the  sunken  eyes 
turned  from  face  to  face  as  though  seeking  to 
tell  them  what  the  tongue  refused  to  utter.  They 
waited  with  tear-bedimmed  gaze,  but  no  other 
word  was  uttered.  Ere  long  there  was  a  rattling 
in  the  throat,  and  the  death-pallor  increased;  a 
few  short  and  long-separated  gasps  and  the 
Cookee  had  finished  his  course.  They  laid  him 
away  in  the  quiet  little  cemetery  during  an  al- 
most blinding  snowstorm. 

With  less  than  five  dollars  in  cash,  and  a  rough 
bit  of  land  heavily  mortgaged,  the  mother  went 
back  to  the  lonely  shack  to  toil  through  weary 
days  to  provide  for  her  five  little  children.  With 
occasional  help  from  other  settlers,  the  struggle 
for  existence  was  made  a  little  less  severe. 

Ten  years  have  passed  away.  The  poverty- 
stricken  pioneers  of  earlier  days  have  cleared 
large  sections  of  land,  and  the  earth  has  brought 
forth  her  fruit.  Prosperity  abounds.  Where 
Jimmy  Hayson's  shack  stood  is  an  attractive 
modern  farm-house.  A  mother  looks  proudly  at 
her  farmer  son  as  she  introduces  him  to  a  city 
pastor  who  is  visiting  the  mission  field  of  his 


96  MASTERED  MEN 

student  ministry.  A  few  hours  later,  in  the  quiet 
of  eventide,  she  stands  with  the  visitor  exchang- 
ing incidents  of  bygone  days. 

"It's  been  a  pretty  hard  road  to  travel,  sir, 
but  the  neighbours  were  just  as  good  as  they 
could  be  after  Jimmy  went.  But  I  often  say  to 
my  boy  Allan  that  there  is  only  One  who  can 
help  us  in  such  times  as  I  passed  through  then." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    REGENERATION   OF   BILE  SANDERS 

A  severe  snow-storm  had  raged  for  over  twelve 
hours,  and  the  home  missionary  was  twenty  miles 
away  from  headquarters.  His  little  Indian  pony 
was  "all  grit,"  as  one  of  the  settlers  said,  but  with 
darkness  only  two  hours  away,  the  preacher  be- 
gan to  reconsider  his  decision  to  make  The  Valley 
and  home  that  night.  Not  a  few  days  "Queenie" 
and  her  driver  had  travelled  fifty  miles,  but  to- 
day the  drifting  snow  almost  blinded  man  and 
beast,  and  with  eleven  miles  of  unbeaten  path 
on  the  storm-swept  plain  immediately  before 
him,  the  missionary  hesitated.  At  best  it  would 
be  dark  before  he  reached  the  bush,  and  he  had 
not  forgotten  a  former  experience,  when  anxious 
hours  were  spent  in  a  similar  storm  seeking  to 
find  the  rarely-travelled  road  that  led  from  the 
plain  through  the  bush  to  The  Valley. 

One  reason  out  of  several  that  made  him  anx- 
ious to  get  home  was  the  fact  that  Widow  Nairn's 
wood-pile  needed  replenishing.  She  was  a  poor 
friendless  old  woman,  who  had  remained  on  a 
plot  of  ground  to  which  she  had  only  "squatter's 

07 


98  MASTERED  MEN 

rights,"  and  while  the  few  scattered  neighbours 
were  kindness  itself,  the  widow  was,  as  Grayson 
said,  so  "blamed  peculiar"  that  it  was  "hard  to 
know  how  to  do  anything  for  her  without  making 
her  mad."  Perhaps  she  could  get  along  for  one 
more  day,  and  the  missionary  resolved  to  drive 
directly  to  her  shack  the  next  morning. 

The  decision  being  made,  he  spoke  cheerily  to 
his  pony,  and  after  a  little  manoeuvring,  the  cut- 
ter was  turned  around  and  Queenie  was  headed 
towards  the  spot  where  two  solitary  pines  rose 
like  sentinels  from  the  underbush.  The  road 
to  Pearson's  was  not  far  beyond  these  landmarks, 
and  the  home  was  one  of  the  few  he  knew  in  this 
rarely-visited  district. 

An  hour  later  he  peered  anxiously  through  the 
storm.  The  snow  melting  around  his  eyes  made 
seeing  difficult,  and  he  began  to  fear  he  had  taken 
a  wood-path  instead  of  the  one  intended.  Pull- 
ing up  his  pony,  he  listened  for  the  j  ingle  of  bells, 
the  bark  of  a  dog,  the  call  of  a  settler,  or  anything 
that  might  help  him  to  locate  some  abode,  but  no 
sound  except  that  made  by  the  winter  wind 
reached  him.  Tying  his  pony  to  a  poplar,  he 
plunged  ahead  in  an  endeavour  to  find  out  some- 
thing about  the  road  he  was  on.  In  a  few  min- 
utes he  saw  that  the  trees  closed  together  again, 
and  knew  that  the  pony  had  taken  the  wrong 
track. 


REGENERATION  OF  BILL  SANDERS    99 

Once  more  the  cutter  was  turned  around  with 
considerable  difficulty.  It  was  a  hard  return 
journey;  every  sign  of  their  own  recently-made 
track  was  gone,  and  the  snow  was  still  falling. 

No  more  welcome  sound  had  been  heard  by 
any  ears  that  day  than  when  distinct,  though 
somewhat  distant,  the  tired  traveller  heard  the 
bark  of  a  dog.  Stopping  his  pony,  he  engaged  in 
a  barking  contest,  until  he  was  sure  of  the  direc- 
tion from  which  the  sound  came.  "We  are  all 
right  now,  thank  God,"  he  said  aloud. 

Through  the  trees  a  light  flickered  a  few  min- 
utes later,  and  soon  a  pioneer's  home  came  into 
view.  The  little  clearance  with  its  low-roofed 
log-house  was  not  one  the  missionary  had  seen 
before,  but  where  there  was  a  house  there  was 
hospitality  on  a  night  like  this. 

Bill  Sanders  was  soon  assisting  the  traveller 
to  unhitch,  and  with  the  aid  of  a  "bug"  *  Oueenie 
was  crowded  into  the  roughly  constructed  stable. 
There  were  times  when  it  would  have  been  both 
difficult  and  dangerous  to  have  put  her  into  such 
quarters,  but  that  night  she  seemed  to  under- 
stand, and  behaved  herself  accordingly. 

The  occupants  of  the  little  home  consisted  of 
fatjier,  mother,  two  boys  and  two  girls.  When 
the    missionary    introduced    himself    there    was 

*  A  tin  lard  pail  fixed  to  hold  a  candle  and  to  serve 
as  a  lantern. 


100  MASTERED  MEN 

manifest  embarrassment  on  the  part  of  the  wife, 
and  the  children  gazed  in  wonderment  from  "the 
room"  door;  they  were  unwilling  to  run  any  risks 
through  getting  too  close  to  this  human  novelty 
until  they  saw  how  he  acted.  "You  see,  sir,  we 
don't  have  many  people  here,  and  they  aren't 
used  to  strangers:  I  guess  you  are  the  first  min- 
ister that's  been  in  this  house" ;  and  then,  as  the 
husband  went  to  bring  in  a  fresh  supply  of  fire- 
wood, she  added  half  apologetically,  "but  I  was 
praying  all  week  that  God  might  send  somebody 
in  here  that  loved  Him.  When  I  used  to  work 
for  Home  Missions  in  Ontario,  I  never  thought 
how  much  I'd  long  for  the  visit  of  a  missionary 
myself  some  day;  it's  very  lonesome  sometimes." 

Before  the  missionary  retired  to  his  allotted 
space  on  the  floor,  he  asked  permission  to  read 
a  few  verses  of  Scripture.  There  was  no  response 
from  the  father:   the  mother  said,  "Yes,  please." 

The  Scripture  and  prayer  were  for  the  encour- 
agement of  the  heavy  laden,  and  tears  were  wiped 
away  from  the  mother's  eyes  as  the  little  group 
arose  from  kneeling. 

When  prayers  were  mentioned  after  breakfast 
the  next  morning,  Bill  Sanders  deliberately  left 
the  shack.  "Two  doses  of  religion  within  twelve 
hours"  were  too  many  for  him,  as  he  often  said 
in  after  years  when  recalling  the  missionary's 
visit.    "We've  a  lot  to  be  thankful  for,"  said  the 


REGENERATION  OF  BILL  SANDERS  101 

much-tried  wife,  as  the  visitor  spoke  a  few  words 
of  encouragement.  The  missionary  glanced  at 
the  mud  floor,  at  the  roughly-hewn  table,  at  the 
round  blocks  used  for  chairs,  at  the  newspaper 
curtains,  at  the  flour-sacks  that  partitioned  off 
the  bed-room,  at  the  miscellaneous  and  damaged 
collection  of  dishes  and  tins  that  rested  on  the 
coverless  table,  and  wondered  wherein  the  "lot 
to  be  thankful  for"  lay.     "We  don't  get  along 

well  with  the  farm;  somehow  Bill  don't ." 

The  words  were  checked,  and  nothing  suggestive 
of  complaint  at  the  husband  was  uttered.  "The 
children  are  well,"  she  continued,  "and  they  are 
obedient,"  and  then,  with  a  fine  reticence  that 
cannot  be  written,  she  added  slowly,  "I  am  try- 
ing to  teach  them  about  God;  and  I  often  tell 
them  that  if  the  shack  isn't  a  credit  to  us,  we 
must  try  to  be  a  credit  to  it.  You  see,  sir,  I'm 
not  strong,  and  with  the  little  ones  to  look  after, 
I  can't  work  outside  as  much  as  a  settler's  wife 
ought;  but  anyhow,  I'd  rather  leave  my  children 
a  good  character  than  anything  else.  Yes,  God 
knows  I  would." 

Late  in  the  morning  the  storm  was  over,  and 
with  a  promise  on  the  part  of  the  missionary  to 
return  again  as  soon  as  possible,  and  on  the  part 
of  the  children  to  come  to  a  Sunday  School  being 
started  in  the  four-mile-distant  schoolhouse, 
good-byes  were  said. 


102  MASTERED  MEN 

Many  weeks  passed  before  the  missionary 
could  visit  again  the  lonely  little  home.  This 
time  the  mother,  pale  and  trembling,  was 
struggling  from  the  stable  with  a  pail  of  milk. 
Inside  the  house  lay  a  four-days' -old  baby  boy. 
The  missionary's  heart  was  heavy.  Since  his 
last  visit  he  had  heard  of  the  faithfulness  and 
goodness  of  the  wife  and  mother,  and  of  the  bru- 
tality of  the  husband  and  father,  but  he  found 
it  hard  to  believe  that  any  man  would  compel 
his  wife  to  do  what  this  poor  creature  had  been 
made  to  do  in  such  a  physical  condition. 

At  first  there  was  fight  in  the  missionary's 
heart,  but  when  the  lazy,  cruel  husband  returned 
from  his  rabbit-snaring,  the  fighting  spirit  had 
been  replaced  by  a  great  yearning  for  this  man's 
salvation.  To  angrily  rebuke  Bill  might  only 
add  to  the  wife's  burden,  while  "the  soul  of  all 
improvement  is  the  improvement  of  the  soul." 
Bill's  need  was  of  a  changed  heart, 

A  prayer  for  guidance  was  breathed  forth  as 
he  walked  to  meet  one  who,  a  few  years  ago, 
had  promised  to  protect  and  love  the  wife  whose 
spirit  was  crushed  and  whose  heart  was  well- 
nigh  broken  by  neglect  and  abuse. 

The  two  men  stood  talking  for  some  time  on 
the  evening  of  that  now  memorable  day.  Often 
the  pale  face  of  an  anxious,  prayerful  wife  looked 
out   through   the    tiny   window.      Perhaps   the 


REGENERATION  OF  BILL  SANDERS  103 

prayer  within  was  mightier  than  the  simple  mes- 
sage spoken  without,  but  at  any  rate  new  desires 
and  purposes  were  awakened  in  Bill's  heart  that 
night.  There  was  no  sudden  "light  of  glory,"  or 
ecstatic  condition,  but  during  the  next  few  weeks 
it  was  evident  that  this  man  was  being  changed. 
When  the  missionary  suggested  getting  his  pony 
hitched,  Bill  urged  him  to  remain  overnight.  At 
retiring  time,  it  was  the  father  who  handed  a 
much-soiled  Bible  to  the  preacher.  Strange  that 
so  simple  an  act  as  that  should  cause  the  wife 
to  weep,  but  at  that  hour  she  saw  the  dawning 
of  a  new  day. 

Three  weeks  later  the  scattered  settlers  "visit- 
ing" outside  the  schoolhouse  on  Sunday  after- 
noon were  amazed  to  see  Bill  Sanders  bringing 
his  wife  to  church  on  the  "jumper." 

The  singing  in  the  little  service  was  usually 
more  hearty  than  harmonious.  For  two  or  three 
years  it  had  been  an  unsettled  and  vexed  ques- 
tion as  to  whether  Sam  Gadsley  or  Martha  Mc- 
Leod  was  the  finer  singer.  One  faction  deemed 
the  matter  settled  beyond  all  controversy  when 
a  late  arrival  at  the  service  confided  to  a  few 
friends  at  the  close  that  he  "could  hear  Sam, 
£ood,  clear  across  the  concession,"  while  he 
"couldn't  have  told  whether  Martha  was  there 
at  all,  at  all."    Martha's  friends  felt  keenly  the 


104  MASTERED  MEN 

consequent  verdict  of  the  community,  deposing 
their  champion. 

To-day  the  missionary  broke  all  his  own  pre- 
vious records  in  the  singing  of  "Praise  God  from 
Whom  all  blessings  flow." 

People  said  "it  was  a  great  sermon  that  the 
little  parson  preached"  that  day.  Although  the 
congregation  may  not  have  known  it,  the  preacher 
almost  broke  down  in  prayer,  his  heart  was  so 
filled  with  gratitude.  When  he  shook  hands  with 
Bill,  there  was  a  grip  that  thrilled  newcomer 
and  preacher  alike.  To  the  wife  he  managed  to 
say,  "I'm  so  glad,"  and  the  now  happy  woman 
looked  as  though  the  opening  doxology  had  be- 
come a  large  part  of  her  very  self. 

The  visit  of  the  Home  Mission  Superintend- 
ent is  always  a  great  day  in  these  isolated  places, 
and  when  on  his  next  visit  he  welcomed  the  new 
members  into  full  communion,  and  took  father, 
mother,  and  two  children  from  the  little  log- 
house,  not  a  few  felt  it  was  the  greatest  day  the 
schoolhouse  had  seen. 

During  the  subsequent  days  of  the  missionary's 

term  of  service,  whenever  there  was  work  to  be 

done,  Bill  Sanders  could  be  counted  on. 
***** 

After  a  lapse  of  ten  years,  the  missionary  stood 
once  more  in  The  Valley.     As  is  true  of  most 


REGENERATION  OF  BILL  SANDERS  105 

Western  communities,  everything  was  changed. 
A  little  city  had  arisen — the  old  schoolhouse  was 
no  more,  and  the  once  well-known  places  could 
no  longer  be  located.  But  there  stands  a  beau- 
tiful little  church  not  far  from  where  the  old 
schoolhouse  once  stood,  and  one  of  the  honoured 
elders  bears  the  name  of  William  Sanders.  Two 
of  his  daughters  teach  in  the  Sabbath  School,  and 
of  the  five  children,  a  well-known  business  man 
said,  "Why,  you'd  just  be  proud  of  every  one 
of  them,  if  they  were  your  own." 

In  the  churchyard  a  marble  slab  bears  the 
name,  "Mary  Perry  Sanders,"  and  near  the  base, 
"She  hath  done  what  she  could."  As  was  her 
desire  in  the  days  of  struggle  and  isolation,  the 
patient,  faithful  mother  had  left  the  precious 
legacy  of  a  good  character  to  her  children. 

Thus  had  the  seed  sown  brought  forth  its  fruit 
after  many  days.  Among  hallowed  memories, 
few  are  so  precious  to  the  missionary  as  that  of  the 
day  when  his  now  old  friend  "Queenie"  took  the 
wrong  road.  And  whenever  on  lonely  prairie, 
in  quiet  hamlet,  or  noisy  city,  he  hears  a  con- 
gregation sing  Cowper's  hymn,  "God  moves  in  a 
mysterious  way,  His  wonders  to  perform,"  he 
thinks  of  that  distant,  stormy  winter  day  when 
a  barking  dog  led  him  to  a  home  that  is  now 
transformed,  and  to  a  darkened  life  that  was  in 
God's  goodness  guided  into  that  light  "that 
shineth  more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    SNAKE-ROOM 

The  hotels  in  the  town  on  the  "boundary"  * 
were  crowded.  For  several  days  the  men  had 
been  returning  from  the  bush  after  the  winter's 
cut,  until  over  a  thousand  "lumber-jacks"  from 
the  various  camps  in  the  immediate  vicinity  had 
taken  possession  of  the  place.  For  most  of  these 
men  the  bar-room  was  the  only  social  centre,  and 
the  arrival  of  each  gang  meant  the  recognition 
of  old  friends  and  the  celebration  thereof  in  a 
call  for  "drinks  all  round." 

In  a  hallway  adjoining  a  popular  barroom 
the  missioner  stood  sadly  watching  the  proces- 
sion of  hard  toilers  losing  at  the  one  time  their 
winter's  earnings  and  the  control  of  their  facul- 
ties. It  seemed  useless  to  plead  with  the  men 
either  collectively  or  individually. 

"It's  the  only  way  we've  got  to  let  off  steam, 
boss — it's  a  fool  way,  you  bet,  but  here  goes." 
The  speaker  was  a  man  of  not  over  thirty  years 
of  age.  With  unsteady  step  he  entered  the  bar- 
room again,  and  pushed  his  way  to  the  double 

*  Boundary  line  between   U.  S.   and  Canada. 

106 


THE  SNAKE-ROOM  107 

line  that  kept  the  bar-tenders  perspiring  as  they 
sought  to  respond  to  the  sometimes  cursing  de- 
mands for  more  rapid  service. 

Along  the  hallway  were  men  in  various  stages 
of  intoxication,  and  the  missioner  knew  from  past 
experiences  that  some  of  the  men  were  only  at 
the  beginning  of  a  debauch  that  would  last  for 
several  days,  perhaps  weeks.  Much  had  been 
done  by  the  lumber  companies  to  improve  the 
conditions  in  camp  and  to  brighten  and  turn  to 
good  account  the  long  winter  evenings.  Then, 
in  order  to  protect  the  earnings  of  the  men  at 
paytime,  arrangements  were  made  to  furnish  im- 
mediate facilities  for  banking  or  for  remitting 
home;  yet  everything  proved  ineffective  in  the 
case  of  some.  The  open  bar  with  its  foolish  and 
dangerous  treating  system  had  led  to  what  had 
become  known  around  town  as  "the  lumber- 
jacks' annual  spring  spree." 

The  cashier  of  one  of  the  companies  sauntered 
through  the  crowd,  and  the  missioner  entered  into 
conversation  with  him,  questioning  him  about  the 
men  thronging  the  bar-room.  "Yes,  Reverend, 
I  know  most  of  the  boys;  I  make  out  paychecks 
for  over  two  hundred  of  them,  and  in  my  time 
I've  run  across  thousands,  and  most  of  them  are 
splendid  fellows  if  you  can  only  keep  the  booze 
away  from  them.  They  look  pretty  well  dam- 
aged just  now,  eh?     And  they'll  be  worse  yet. 


108  MASTERED  MEN 

When  they  get  started  you  can't  stop  them  till 
they're  at  the  end  of  their  tether.  See  that  fellow 
lighting  his  cigar  in  Ern.  Dean's  pipe*?  Wait 
till  he  turns  round  a  bit — there!  now!  his  ear's 
half  gone,  see*?  He's  some  fighter,  believe  me! 
A  year  ago  last  month  somebody  got  a  few  bot- 
tles of  whiskey  into  the  camp  on  the  q.t.  We 
try  to  keep  it  out,  but  you  might  as  well  try  to 
keep  out  mosquitoes  in  June.  Well,  sir,  that 
night  Bill  got  into  a  fight  with  a  chap  called 
Frenchy,  and  in  about  ten  minutes  Frenchy 
needed  an  identification  label  on  him.  Bill  was 
clean  plumb  crazy,  and  as  Frenchy  had  been 
looking  for  a  scrap  for  weeks  the  boys  let  them 
have  their  innings  for  a  while.  Just  before  the 
boys  pried  them  apart,  the  two  of  them  took  a 
deuce  of  a  tumble  to  the  bunkhouse  floor,  and 
somehow  Frenchy  got  his  teeth  on  Bill's  ear.  We 
couldn't  patch  the  thing  together,  so  Bill  had 
to  foot  it  nearly  thirty  miles  to  the  nearest  town, 
and  you  see  what  the  crossbones  had  to  do  to 
trim  off  his  receiving  apparatus'?  Bill  gets 
ninety  dollars  a  month — I  handed  him  a  check 
for  four  hundred  and  fifty  last  Saturday,  and 
it  would  be  safe  to  bet  the  whiskies  he  hasn't 
fifty  dollars  left  right  this  minute.  He  doesn't 
know  what  he's  done  with  it — quite  likely  a  pile 
of  it  has  been  swiped  when  he  was  dead  to  the 
world.    Between  ourselves,  Reverend,  there's  lots 


THE  SNAKE-ROOM  109 

of  dope  served  out  right  here,  and  when  the  boys 
come  to,  a  good  part  of  their  boodle  is  gone. 
Just  the  other  day  Dick  Booth  was  yelling  blue 
murder  around  here,  and  Bertois  came  from  the 
office  and  hooked  his  arm  into  Dick's  and  said, 
'Come  on,  Dick,  and  have  one  on  me.'  In  less 
than  five  minutes  there  wasn't  so  much  as  a  chirp 
from  Dick,  and  he  looked  like  the  dickens  for  a 
few  seconds,  and  then  he  slid  down  the  wall  to 
the  floor,  and  Bertois  and  Sam  carried  him  into 
the  snake-room.  You  bet  Bertois  fixed  Dick's 
drink  alright.  The  trouble  comes  between  seasons 
when  the  boys  are  off  a  few  weeks.  They  come 
into  town  to  kill  time,  but  it  works  the  other 
way  round." 

Two  days  later  the  missioner  was  sitting  writ- 
ing at  the  hotel  table  when  Bill,  blear-eyed,  un- 
shaven and  dirty,  came  staggering  toward  him. 
The  voice  was  almost  terrifying  in  its  intensity 
of  appeal,  "For  God's  sake  give  me  something 
to  eat;  I've  had  nothing  but  that  stuff  (pointing 
toward  the  barroom)  for  three  days." 

Before  anything  more  could  be  said  Bertois, 
the  proprietor,  hurried  from  behind  his  desk,  and 
grabbing  Bill  by  the  shoulder,  uttered  an  oath, 
and  dragged  him  to  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall. 
Unfastening  the  door  with  his  latch-key  he  gave 
Bill  a  vigorous  shove,  and  the  intoxicated  man, 
stumbling  over  some  object,  fell  heavily  to  the 


110  MASTERED  MEN 

floor.  Banging  the  door,  Bertois  turned  to  the 
basement  stairway  just  around  the  corner,  and 
in  a  sharp  voice  called  "Sam."  Sam  immedi- 
ately responded  to  the  call. 

"How  in  the  did  Bill  Bird  get  out  of 

there." 

"Didn't  know  'e  was  out,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"Did  you  give  anybody  your  key6?" 

"Hi  did  not,  sir." 

"Well,  then,  you  must  have  left  the  door  un- 
locked; mind  you  don't  let  any  more  of  them 
d fools  out." 

As  calmly  as  was  possible  the  missioner  pro- 
tested against  the  treatment  Bill  received. 

"What  would  you  do  with  them*?  Would  you 
want  them  around  the  house"?"  was  the  gruff 
reply.  "Give  them  a  bed4?  Not  much!  We 
don't  keep  beds  for  that  brand.  The  only  thing 
you  can  do  is  to  kick  'em  into  the  snake-room. 
You  don't  know  anything  about  Bill's  kind.  He's 
seeing  life;  them  fellows  have  been  counting  on 
this  blow-out  for  months." 

An  hour  or  so  later  the  missioner  found  Sam 
alone  in  the  basement.  The  old  man  was  worthy 
of  a  better  job  than  the  doing  of  the  dirtiest  and 
most  objectionable  work  around  a  lumber-town 
hotel,  but  times  had  gone  hard  with  him  of  late 
years,  and  his  few  relatives  were  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic. 


THE  SNAKE-ROOM  111 

"No,  sir,  hit  ain't  the  kind  of  place  hi  expected 
to  be  in  at  my  hage,  but  beggars  mustn't  be 
choosers,  you  know,  sir,  and  after  hi  cut  me  foot 
half  off  with  a  hax  I  ad  to  take  wot  I  could  get, 
especially  as  me  rheumatiz  bothered  me  a  lot. 
Wot's  the  snake-room  like,  did  you  say?  Hit 
just  depends  oo's  hin  it.  Hit's  chuck  full  these 
days,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  and  it  hain't  a  sight  yer 
reverence  would  like  to  see.  You  want  a  peep 
hin,  eh?  Well,  hi  don't  know  as  how  you'd  be 
allowed;  the  boss  is  rather  perticlar  about  who 
sees  'is  customers  hin  the  snake-room.  It  hain't 
a  very  good  hadvertisement,  hin  my  opinion." 

Nevertheless  Sam  agreed,  if  the  territory  was 
clear,  to  show  the  missioner  the  snake-room.  By 
way  of  apology,  the  old  man  explained  that  he 
had  often  told  his  boss  that  it  was  a  shame  to 
put  men  into  such  a  place  without  any  kind  of 
bed,  with  no  food,  and  frequently,  in  decidedly 
cold  weather,  without  any  heat. 

When  the  opportunity  afforded  itself,  Sam 
and  the  missioner  went  quietly  upstairs  and,  un- 
seen, entered  the  snake-room.  Accustomed  as  he 
had  been  to  see  the  effects  of  alcohol  and  evil- 
living,  the  scene  before  the  visitor  was  a  fresh 
and  terrible  revelation  of  their  destructive  power. 

The  room  was  probably  fifteen  feet  square.  Its 
furnishings  consisted  of  one  table  and  two  framed 
pictures — the    latter    being    advertisements    of 


118  MASTERED  MEN 

"popular  brands  of  whiskies,"  which  were  said 
to  have  "stood  the  test  for  nearly  one  hundred 
years."  Some  results  of  the  test  were  upon  the 
floor. 

In  order  to  get  inside,  Sam  had  pushed  hard 
against  the  door,  crowding  back  the  feet  of  the 
man  nearest.  There  was  scarcely  more  floor 
space  than  the  two  men  needed  to  stand  on. 
Curses,  snores  and  groans  came  from  the  filthy, 
stench-laden  mass  of  men  that  covered  the  floor. 
Several  boards  in  the  wainscotting  were  spat- 
tered with  human  blood.  One  man  with  a  re- 
cently made  gash  across  his  forehead  was  lying 
on  his  side,  and  with  eyes  closed,  kept  striking 
out  with  his  fist,  sometimes  hitting  the  leg  of  an 
old  man  who  seemed  absolutely  paralysed  with 
liquor,  and  sometimes  hitting  the  partition. 
Every  blow  was  accompanied  by  profanity. 

Partly  under  the  table  lay  two  camp  cooks. 
One  of  them,  Heinrich  Lietzmann,  was  a  most 
generous  individual,  and  a  great  favourite  with 
his  fellow-workers.  Because  of  his  appearance 
he  was  dubbed  "Roly-Poly"  Lietzmann.  His 
broken  English  was  very  attractive,  and  nothing 
pleased  the  younger  men  better  than  to  "get  him 
going"  on  international  politics.  Judging  from 
his  terribly  bruised  face,  he  had  either  fallen 
heavily  or  been  in  a  fight.  Poor  Heinrich  made 
several   attempts  to   raise  himself   to   a  sitting 


THE  SNAKE-ROOM  113 

posture,  each  time  falling  back  with  a  disturb- 
ing effect  on  the  men  nearest  him,  and  receiving 
therefore  their  muttered  curses,  which  he  re- 
turned in  full  measure. 

Along  the  table,  on  his  back,  lay  Chris. 
Rogers.  Nobody  knew  the  history  of  Chris,  al- 
though, because  of  a  remarkable  gift  of  speech 
which  he  manifested  when  excited  by  liquor,  the 
report  that  he  had  once  been  a  "shyster  lawyer" 
in  a  Western  State  was  generally  believed.  He 
was  far  above  the  average  lumber-jack  in  knowl- 
edge, but  far  below  in  vice.  After  the  discovery 
of  an  unusually  mean  trick,  Bill  Bird  had,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  camp,  fittingly  described  Chris, 
when  he  said,  "That  dirty  rascal  is  so  near  mon- 
grel dog,  that  if  he  had  a  bit  more  hair  on  him 
he'd  start  running  rabbits."  Just  why  Chris,  had 
been  given  charge  of  the  camp  stores  was  a  mys- 
tery, but  for  nearly  two  years  he  had  held  the 
position.  He  was  a  slender,  wiry  man  with  a 
singularly  repulsive  face.  His  teeth  were  gone, 
and  his  long  pointed  moustache  drooped  along- 
side of  the  hard  mouth  that  was  continually 
stained  with  tobacco  juice.  His  coat  and  vest 
were  plastered  with  grease  from  careless  eating 
and  his  whole  appearance  suggested  a  dirty 
demon-possessed  man. 

Bill  Bird,  the  fighter,  had  managed  to  get  into 
a  comer,  and  was  sitting  with  arms  on  knees  and 


114*  MASTERED  MEN 

drooping  head — a  picture  of  wretchedness. 
Once  he  managed  to  look  up,  and  for  a  moment 
gazed  in  a  dazed  way  at  the  missioner:  "By 
God!  I  wish  I  was  dead:"  then  there  was  a  pro- 
longed cry  of  the  word  "Oh,"  as  of  a  man  in 
great  agony.  A  few  of  the  stupefied  men  roused 
themselves  enough  to  utter  a  curse  in  Bill's  direc- 
tion. Gazing  once  more  at  the  missioner,  Bill 
cried  out:   "Oh!  oh!  the  devil's  got  me  for  sure." 

Sam  laid  his  hand  on  the  missioner's  arm; 
"We'd  better  slip  out  now,  sir,  or  there  might 
be  trouble." 

With  a  sigh  and  a  heavy  heart  the  missioner 
passed  into  the  hall  and  up  to  the  room  he  had 
been  occupying  for  ten  days.  With  a  whispered 
cry,  "How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long?"  he  fell  on 
his  knees  at  his  bedside,  and  then  in  silence  he 
pleaded  with  his  God  that  at  least  Bill  Bird 
might  be  released  from  the  grip  of  the  Evil  One. 

After  the  regular  service  that  night,  a  few 
Christian  people  met  for  prayer.  The  missioner 
confided  in  those  present,  and  with  sadness  told 
of  his  visit  with  Sam  to  the  snake-room.  "What 
are  we  doing,"  he  asked,  "either  as  a  church  or 
as  individuals,  for  these  men*?  Has  Satan  any 
opposition  from  us  as  he  enslaves  our  fellow- 
countrymen"?  Surely  it  is  not  a  matter  of  indif- 
ference to  us  when  these  men  are  wrecking  their 
own  and  other  lives,  in  dens  of  vice  that  have 


THE  SNAKE-ROOM  115 

been  allowed  to  plant  themselves  in  this  town, 
and  that  can  only  thrive  as  manhood  and  woman- 
hood are  debased*? 

"Several  lumbermen  in  this  district  say  that 
in  the  past  fifteen  years  there  has  been  a  steady 
deterioration  in  the  men  employed  in  the  woods. 
After  every  payday,  by  their  debauchery, 
seventy-five  per  cent,  unfit  themselves  for  the 
work  to  be  done,  and  take  from  two  to  eight 
weeks  to  get  back  to  normal  condition.  There  is 
much  that  may  and  must  be  done  along  social 
lines  if  we  are  going  to  arrest  these  degrading  in- 
fluences, but  in  the  meantime  is  it  not  possible  for 
us  as  individuals  to  get  into  personal  touch  with 
some  of  these  boys,  and  throw  around  them  the 
protection  of  our  Christian  friendship  and  hos- 
pitality? Preaching  is  not  the  only  means  for 
advancing  the  Kingdom.  So  much  may  be  done 
if  Christian  people  will  put  themselves  and  their 
possessions  at  the  service  of  humanity,  and  learn 
to  love  the  lowest  as  well  as  the  best  of  the  race. 
Some  of  these  lumber-jacks  might  go  back  to 
camp  changed  men  if  we  gave  God  a  fair  chance 
to  use  us.  Perhaps  some  of  you  business  men, 
or  some  of  you  ranchers,  could  get  alongside  of 
at  least  one  poor  fellow  from  that  snake-room, 
and  live  for  his  reclamation.  There  are  many 
ways  of  keeping  in  touch  with  these  men,  even 
when  they  return  to  the  bush,  and,  in  this  land 


116  MASTERED  MEN 

of  investments,  you  would  find  nothing  yield 
such  a  dividend  as  the  investment  of  your  time 
in  the  attractive  presentation  of  the  love  and 
power  of  Jesus  Christ.  Will  you  at  least  make 
the  effort,  and  leave  the  results  to  your  Master?" 
The  words  were  spoken  and  the  question  asked 
with  an  earnestness  that  had  been  intensified  by 
the  heart-rending  appeal  of  the  broken  manhood 
that  the  speaker  knew  was  represented  by  what 
he  had  looked  upon  in  the  snake-room. 

In  the  prayerful  atmosphere  and  the  silence 
that  followed  the  question,  one  man  said  in  his 
heart,  "I  will."     That  man  was  George  Clarke. 

George  Clarke  had  a  small  ranch  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  town.  He  was  one  of  the  most 
industrious  men  in  the  Province,  but  his  industry 
had  not  resulted  in  the  prosperity  that  most  of 
his  neighbours  enjoyed.  He  had  met  with  enough 
reverses  to  absolutely  dishearten  the  aver- 
age man,  but  he  had  borne  them  all  bravely, 
keeping  his  disposition  unsoured,  and  his  char- 
acter clean.  His  extreme  reticence,  however, 
often  led  strangers  to  misjudge  him,  and  to  un- 
derestimate his  worth.  In  public  affairs  he 
treated  himself  as  though  he  had  no  right  to 
anything  but  the  most  inferior  position,  and  to 
have  given  expression  to  his  own  opinion  before 
even  a  small  audience  would,  in  his  own  judg- 
ment, have  resulted  fatally.     Once,  under  great 


THE  SNAKE-ROOM  117 

pressure,  he  had  consented  to  pass  the  collection 
plate  at  a  church  service,  but  after  getting  on  his 
feet,  "everything  was  a  blur."  The  boys  at  the 
rear  vowed  that  he  stumbled  against  every  bench- 
end  but  one,  and  that  by  the  time  he  was  half 
way  down  the  aisle  "he  didn't  know  which  side 
of  the  plate  should  be  up."  In  replacing  the 
plate  on  the  organ,  to  the  great  surprise  of  the 
organist,  he  unceremoniously  deposited  most  of 
the  offering  in  her  lap,  and  was  too  much  over- 
come with  embarrassment  to  assist  her  in  replac- 
ing it.  During  the  closing  hymn  he  made  his 
escape  to  a  quiet  spot  in  the  bush,  where  he  could 
wipe  his  profusely  perspiring  brow  and  where  he 
could  solemnly  promise  himself  not  to  be  en- 
trapped again.  But  despite  his  reticence  he  was 
an  exceptionally  intelligent  man,  and  when  any 
individual  could  get  George  to  express  himself 
on  questions  of  importance,  it  was  not  long  be- 
fore "this  is  what  George  Clarke  thinks,"  was 
passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  throughout  the  com- 
munity. All  through  the  years  he  had  resided 
in  the  West  he  had  been  absolutely  upright  in 
his  dealings  and  conduct,  and  though  his  reti- 
cence prevented  him  from  taking  an  aggressive 
part  in  certain  moral  reforms  that  were  advo- 
cated from  time  to  time,  yet  there  was  never  a 
shadow  of  a  doubt  as  to  which  side  he  would  be 
on.      The   cynical    individual    who   stated   that 


118  MASTERED  MEN 

"every  man  has  his  price,"  was  compelled  to 
make  an  exception  in  the  case  of  George  Clarke. 

And  so  it  will  not  be  deemed  irreverent  if  we 
say  that  when  George  Clarke  said  in  his  heart 
"I  will,"  God  knew  he  could  trust  him. 

Very  thoughtfully  George  passed,  with  his 
wife,  from  the  meeting  out  into  the  darkness. 
"I'm  going  to  look  for  Bill  Bird,  Mary,  and  if 
I  get  him  I'll  bring  him  home — how  would  it  do 
if  you  go  on  with  the  Erasers'?"  The  sugges- 
tion was  all  that  Mrs.  Clarke  needed,  and  her 
neighbours,  without  any  questioning,  cheerfully 
made  room  for  her  in  their  democrat. 

George  halted  several  times  on  his  way  to  the 
hotel  shed  where  his  horse  and  buggy  had  been 
left — he  was  wondering  how  best  to  carry  out 
his  resolve.  That  resolve  was  to  do  his  utmost 
to  help  Bill  Bird  to  a  new  life.  Years  ago  in 
the  East  he  had  been  on  very  friendly  terms  with 
trie  Bird  family,  and  though  he  had  once  or  twice 
tried  to  show  Bill  a  kindness,  yet  he  knew  he 
had  not  measured  up  to  his  opportunities  and  he 
felt  condemned.  Quietly  he  walked  down  the 
roadway  to  the  rear  of  the  Imperial  Hotel.  The 
shouts  and  oaths  of  the  drinking  and  the  drunken, 
and  the  clatter  of  glassware  reached  his  ears  as 
he  passed  along.  Was  Bill  still  inside,  and  if  so, 
how  could  he  get  hold  of  him?  A  side  door 
opened,  and  George  stepped  back  into  the  deep 


THE  SNAKE-ROOM  119 

shadow  of  the  building.  Bertois,  the  proprietor, 
and  some  man  whom  George  did  not  know,  came 
to  the  step  and  stood  in  the  light  for  a  moment. 
Then  the  door  was  pulled  to,  and  the  men  stood 
silent  as  if  listening  to  assure  themselves  they 
were  alone.  Under  ordinary  circumstances 
George  would  have  spoken  to  Bertois,  but  this 
night  he  deemed  it  wiser  to  remain  unobserved. 
The  men  conversed  in  low  tones  at  first,  but  after 
a  while  Bertois'  words  reached  him: 

"Don't  play  too  swift  a  game  for  a  start:  give 
'em  plenty  of  bait;  they'll  keep  on  biting  till  we 
land  'em.  We  can  easily  clear  five  hundred  from 
those  three  suckers  if  you  watch  yourself.  Dick 
knows  the  drinks  to  dish  out.  Here's  for  luck! 
Come  on." 

Re-entering  they  closed  the  door  quietly,  and 
George  still  waited,  hoping  that  Sam  would  come 
out,  and  that  the  old  man  might  be  persuaded 
to  get  Bill  Bird  into  the  yard.  Many  times  dur- 
ing the  next  fifteen  minutes  the  door  opened,  and 
each  time  George  Clarke  got,  in  some  form  or 
other,  information  of  the  hell  that  was  inside. 
The  hour  was  late,  yet  he  felt  he  must  remain 
longer.  Bill  Bird  was  in  his  keeping,  for  like 
those  near  the  blind  beggar  of  old,  George  had 
heard  the  call  from  the  Great  Physician,  "Bring 
him  hither  to  Me." 

To  face  the  crowd  of  men  he  knew  would  be 


120  MASTERED  MEN 

inside  the  hotel  was  more  than  he  felt  equal  to, 
and  he  knew  that  in  all  probability  any  attempt 
to  get  Bill  out  under  such  circumstances  would 
fail. 

Once  more  the  side  door  opened — this  time 
slowly  and  unsteadily.  A  man  leaned  against 
the  jamb  for  a  few  seconds  as  if  needing  sup- 
port. Then  some  one  from  within  slammed  the 
door  against  him,  and  he  slipped  heavily  down 
to  the  narrow  platform.  There  was  a  curse  and 
a  drunken  hiccough,  and  then  the  words  the  mis- 
sioner  had  heard  were  uttered  again,  "By  God, 
I  wish  I  was  dead." 

George  Clarke  did  not  immediately  recognize 
the  voice,  but  he  did  immediately  step  near  to 
his  needy  brother-man,  and  said  sympathetically, 
"What's  the  matter,  mate?" 

Taken  by  surprise  the  man  asked,  "Who  in 
the  are  you?" 

George  recognized  the  voice  and  the  form  and 
said,  "I'm  George  Clarke,  and  I'm  your  friend, 
Bill  Bird."  His  hand  was  laid  upon  the  shoul- 
der of  the  sickened  man,  and  in  a  kindly  voice 
he  persuaded  him  to  accompany  him  to  his  home. 
"The  place  here  is  crowded,  and  we've  got  lots 
of  room  at  our  place  and  can  give  you  a  com- 
fortable bunk  for  the  night:  come  along,  Bill, 
for  old  time's  sake." 

Linking  his  arm  in  Bill's,  he  led  the  stagger- 


THE  SNAKE-ROOM  121 

ing  man  to  the  drive-shed,  and  after  some  dif- 
ficulty and  a  few  arguments,  got  him  safely  into 
his  buggy,  and  not  a  soul  in  the  place  was  the 

wiser. 

Mrs.    Clarke    was    a    worthy    helpmeet    for 
George,   and  though  her  household  cares  were 
many,  she  grudged  no  extra  labour  that  would 
please   her   husband    and   help    a    fellow-being. 
And  so  everything  necessary  for  the  comfort  of 
the  fallen  man  had  been  done.     A  supper  had 
been  prepared,  and  the  guest-room  made  ready. 
Bill  ate  as  freely  as  his  condition  would  allow, 
and  then  very  willingly  acted  on  the  suggestion 
that  he  should  "creep  in."    George  gave  the  dirty, 
tired,  whiskey-soaked  man  such  assistance  as  he 
felt  would  be  advisable.     Once  Bill  raised  his 
heavy  eyelids  and  appeared  to  be  trying  to  under- 
stand the  "why"  of  things.     "This  is  no  place 
for  me,  George  Clarke— by  God,  no !"    The  body 
wobbled  wearily,  and  Bill  could  think  and  talk 
no  more.     And  so  with  most  of  his  clothes  on, 
filthy  from  his  stay  in  the  snake-room,  Bill  Bird 
was  placed  in  the  best  bed  in  the  best  room  of 
one  of  the  truest  homes  with  which  the  district 
was  blessed. 

Before  retiring  himself,  George  Clarke  went 
to  a  wicker-basket  in  the  parlour,  and  searched 
through  the  family  collection  of  photographs. 
At  last  he  found  the  one  he  sought.     It  was  of 


122  MASTERED  MEN 

the  Bird  family,  and  was  taken  shortly  before  the 
oldest  boys  went  West.  George  took  it  out  to 
his  wife,  who  was  still  working  in  the  kitchen. 
Pointing  to  the  face  of  a  bright  manly  boy  who 
stood  with  hand  upon  his  mother's  shoulder,  he 
said  to  his  wife,  "If  Bertois  and  his  gang  changed 
a  boy's  face  as  terribly  as  Bill's  has  been  changed, 
and  did  it  in  a  few  minutes,  they  would  be  sent 
to  the  'pen'  for  five  years,  and  yet  we  let  that 
same  gang  take  their  time  on  the  job,  and  do  it 
in  hundred  lots,  and  scarcely  raise  so  much  as  a 
finger  to  stop  it — and  I'm  as  guilty  as  the  rest 
of  them.  Poor  Bill!  he  used  to  be  as  decent  a 
little  chap  as  you  could  find  in  the  County  of  Ad- 
dington." 

The  photograph  was  returned  to  the  parlour, 
and  dropped  somewhat  carelessly  upon  the  table, 
but  the  unthinking,  and  yet  perhaps  not  unguided 
act  was  the  first  of  many  influences  that  brought 
better  days  to  Bill  Bird. 

Long  into  the  morning  the  occupant  of  the 
guest-room  slept  on.  George  Clarke  had  opened 
the  door  quietly  at  breakfast  time,  but  the  heavy 
breathing  caused  him  to  leave  the  wearied  man 
undisturbed.  About  the  middle  of  the  forenoon, 
after  much  yawning  and  stretching,  Bill's  con- 
sciousness slowly  returned. 

He  pushed  back  the  white  coverlets  and  gazed 
around  the  room.    Many  times  he  had  awakened 


THE  SNAKE-ROOM  123 

in  a  drive-shed,  twice  in  the  police  cell,  more 
than  once  in  the  "snake-room."  But  this  morn- 
ing everything  was  different.  What  had  hap- 
pened? Was  he  dreaming?  The  room  was  the 
most  attractively  furnished  of  any  he  had  slept 
in  for  years,  and  his  soiled  clothes  on  the  chair 
at  the  bedside  were  strangely  out  of  harmony 
with  the  surroundings. 

He  had  confused  memories  of  events  since  he 
came  out  of  the  camp,  but  he  knew  he  had  spent 
his  money  in  the  way  most  of  his  earnings  had 
gone  for  the  last  few  years,  and  he  condemned 
himself  for  having  been  a  fool  again.  With  a 
half-consciousness  of  some  one  being  near,  he 
looked  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room. 

The  bedroom  door  had  been  quietly  opened 
and  a  bright  "good-morning"  greeted  him.  There 
need  be  no  hurry,  he  was  told,  but  whenever  he 
was  ready  he  might  just  as  well  have  a  bite  of 
breakfast. 

No  word  was  spoken  in  explanation  of  his 
presence,  nor  in  regard  to  the  trouble  George  had 
had  in  getting  him  away  from  the  "Imperial" 
the  night  before.  Slowly  and  with  mingled  feel- 
ings of  embarrassment  and  disgust,  Bill  at- 
tempted to  clean  himself  up  a  little.  He  knew 
he  was  in  George  Clarke's  home,  and  in  his  own 
words,  "felt  like  a  fool  and  looked  the  part  to 
perfection." 


124  MASTERED  MEN 

It  was  not  easy  to  face  those  he  knew  had  be- 
friended him,  for  sin  had  not  yet  lost  its  shame 
to  Bill  Bird. 

His  bedroom  door  opened  into  the  parlour, 
and  he  stood  alone  for  a  few  seconds.  Then  his 
eyes  fell  on  the  old  photograph.  His  hands 
trembled  as  he  held  it  and  gazed  into  the  faces 
of  mother  and  brothers  and  sister.  Pictures  of 
the  old  home  and  of  happy  family  relationships 
of  past  years  crowded  themselves  upon  his 
memory. 

He  remembered  how  his  widowed  mother  had 
toiled  and  struggled  to  bring  up  her  six  boys 
aright  and  give  them  the  best  equipment  possible 
for  the  battle  of  life.  He  recalled  his  own  set- 
ting out  from  home — from  the  home  to  which  he 
had  never  returned,  and  to  which  he  had  rarely 
written.  The  "Western  fever"  had  gripped  him 
in  his  early  twenties,  and  nothing  could  induce 
him  to  stay  on  the  Homestead.  And  so  ere  long 
the  property  had  to  pass  into  other  kands,  be- 
cause there  were  no  boys  left  to  work  the  place. 
The  mother's  sorrow  over  the  parting  with  her 
"Willie"  had  rested  very  lightly  on  him  the 
morning  he  started  Westward.  Yet  to-day  he 
viewed  it  in  a  different  light,  and  he  lived  the 
parting  over  again  with  very  different  feelings. 
The  last  breakfast  had  been  prepared  in  silence 
by  the  one  who  had  never  ceased  to  love  him. 


THE  SNAKE-ROOM  125 

More  than  once  she  had  tried  to  speak,  but  the 
lump  in  the  throat  prevented.  At  last  they  stood 
in  the  hall,  and  her  words  were  uttered  with  sobs 
as  she  clung  to  her  "baby  boy."  "Good-bye,  my 
Willie,  and  remember,  that  as  long  as  your 
mother  has  breath  she  will  pray  every  day  for 
her  boy,  and  ask  God  to  take  care  of  him."  He 
had  assured  her  he  could  take  care  of  himself. 
He  remembered  the  last  flutter  of  the  handker- 
chief as  she  stood  on  the  milk-stand  watching  the 
buggy  disappear  from  the  sideroad  on  to  the 
"gravel."  He  had  "taken  care  of  himself,"  and 
a  mighty  poor  job  he  had  made  of  it,  and  there 
seemed  little  chance  of  any  improvement. 

While  he  was  in  the  midst  of  such  thoughts, 
George  Clarke  entered.  Bill  was  still  holding 
the  photograph.  With  moistened  eyes  he  looked 
into  the  face  of  his  hospitable  friend.  "George 
Clarke,"  he  commenced,  "it  takes  a  man  a  long 
time  to  own  up  that  he  has  made  a  botch  of 
things;  it's  too  late  now  to  make  a  fresh  start, 
but  I've  been  looking  at  this  picture,  and  God 
knows  I'd  like  to  have  as  good  a  character  as  I 
had  when  that  was  taken.  That  woman  is  as 
good  a  mother  as  any  boys  ever  had,  and  I 
haven't  shown  her  the  gratitude  of  a  dog." 

To  this  day,  George  Clarke  feels  that  he  never 
made  a  poorer  attempt  at  trying  to  speak  a  help- 
ful word  to  a  discouraged  man  than  on  the  morn- 


126  MASTERED  MEN 

ing  when  Bill  Bird  stood  in  his  little  parlour  on 
the  old  ranch.  One  result  of  the  conversation, 
however,  was  the  decision  on  Bill's  part  to  ac- 
cept the  invitation  to  remain  at  the  Clarke  ranch 
for  at  least  a  few  weeks,  and  during  those  weeks 
he  saw  demonstrated  the  best  type  of  Christian 
living  with  which  he  had  ever  come  in  contact. 
On  several  occasions  he  accompanied  George  to 
the  hall  in  which  the  special  services  were  being 
held.  Rather  to  the  surprise  of  the  Clarkes,  he 
made  no  response  to  the  appeals  from  the  mis- 
sioner,  which  seemed  to  them  so  powerful.  One 
Sabbath  evening,  however,  as  they  sat  around 
the  stove,  Bill  expressed  himself  in  such  a  way 
as  to  bring  a  thrill  of  joy  to  the  hearts  of  those 
who  were  greatly  concerned  in  seeing  him  make 
the  "Choice  of  the  Highest." 

"George  Clarke,"  said  Bill,  "I  haven't  taken 
much  stock  in  religion,  but  if  there's  a  kind  that 
makes  a  man  do  what  you  and  your  missus  did 
for  me  when  I  wasn't  fit  company  for  a  pig,  I 
guess  I  ought  to  go  in  for  it."  Then  in  a  lower 
and  subdued  tone  he  added,  "For  anybody  to 
take  an  interest  in  me  is  a  stunner,  the  dirty 
tough  that  I  was." 

It  was  Bill's  own  opinion  that  for  him  life  in 
the  bush  was  no  longer  safe,  and  so,  until  his 
future  was  fully  decided,  he  agreed  to  assist  the 
Clarkes  with  the  work  on  the  ranch.     When  a 


THE  SNAKE-ROOM  127 

few  months  later,  through  the  death  of  a  brother 
in  the  East,  George  Clarke  decided  to  make  his 
home  in  Nova  Scotia,  Bill  Bird  said  in  effect, 
"Where  thou  goest,  I  will  go." 

And  it  so  happens  that  to-day,  down  by  the 
Eastern  sea,  the  former  lumber-jack  is  building  a 
home,  a  business  and  a  character.  He  has  not 
again  returned  West,  but  he  has  often  told  inti- 
mate friends  that  there  is  a  rancher's  small  home 
in  the  distant  province  which  he  never  forgets; 
and  he  thanks  God  for  those  who  valued  a  dirty, 
wrecked,  but  God-loved  man  more  than  furni- 
ture and  carpets,  and  whose  hospitality  and  serv- 
ice awakened  desires  that  have  transformed  a 
life. 

But  it  was  not  to  Bill  Bird  alone  that  an  up- 
lift came.  Let  George  Clarke  speak  for  himself. 
His  words  were  spoken  as  he  renewed  his  ac- 
quaintance with  the  missioner  two  years  later. 
The  audience  had  dispersed,  and  George  and  the 
speaker  walked  down  the  street  of  the  little  fish- 
ing village.  Bill  Bird  was  the  main  subject  of 
their  conversation.  For  a  long  time  they  stood 
in  the  darkness  as  George  narrated  all  that  had 
transpired  after  the  missioner's  departure  from 
the  Western  town.  When  his  story  was  ended, 
the  missioner  clasped  his  hand  and  said,  "God 
bless  you,  Clarke,  for  what  you  did  in  Bill's  be- 


128  MASTERED  MEN 

half.  If  only  we  could  multiply  that  kind  of 
effort  we  could  redeem  this  dominion." 

George  clung  to  the  extended  hand  as  he  said, 
"You  are  very  good,  sir,  to  say  that  to  me,  but  I 
tell  you  honestly,  when  I  tried  to  do  that  little 
bit  for  Bill  Bird,  I  did  a  deal  more  for  George 
Clarke.  I  have  had  my  ups  and  downs  as  you 
know.  Since  I've  been  in  the  East  I've  done 
pretty  well  on  the  whole,  but  honestly,  sir,  the 
palmiest  days  I've  ever  had,  and  the  best  re- 
turns my  bank-book  ever  showed,  are  as  nothing 
in  value  compared  to  the  satisfaction  that  came 
to  me  and  my  wife  when  we  saw  Bill  Bird 
solidly  on  his  feet  as  a  Christian  man.  If  you're 
going  back  by  the  Intercolonial,  try  to  stop  over 

at  C .     Bill  would  be  mighty  glad  to  see 

you,  and  you'll  see  what  the  Lord  can  do  with  a 
man  who  has  gone  even  as  far  as  the  "snake- 
room." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    BUSH    FIRE 

"Bush  fires  are  said  to  be  raging  throughout  the 
vicinity  of  Lundville." 

This  bulletin  was  one  of  several  occupying  the 
boards  in  front  of  "The  Journal"  building  in 
Carlton  Mines — a  British  Columbia  mining 
town.  As  Lundville  was  thirty  miles  south-west, 
no  unusual  anxiety  was  felt  by  those  who  read 
the  brief  announcement  about  noon-tide  on  an 
August  day.  The  atmosphere  had  been  heavy 
with  smoke  for  the  past  forty-eight  hours;  but 
that  was  not  at  all  uncommon  during  that  month. 

By  nightfall,  however,  the  town  was  enveloped 
in  a  dense  cloud  of  smoke;  and  from  the  roofs 
of  high  buildings  on  the  outskirts  the  atmosphere 
seemed  to  be  penetrated  by  the  lurid  glow  of  the 
raging  fires  which  now  extended  for  several4miles. 
Telephone  communication  with  Lundville  had 
been  impossible  since  noon,  and  from  Burnt 
River,  only  fifteen  miles  away,  the  last  message 
received  told  of  the  whole 'population  being  en- 
gaged in  a  desperate  effort  to  effectively  check 
the  fire  which  threatened  to  wipe  out  the  village. 

129 


130  MASTERED  MEN 

From  Burnt  River  to  Carlton  Mines  there  were 
unbroken  timber  lands,  a  fact  which  caused  deep 
anxiety  to  many  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  min- 
ing town.  Not  a  few  retired  that  night  with 
forebodings  that  made  anything  but  fitful  and 
troubled  sleep  impossible.  Many  were  the  fer- 
vent hopes  that  ere  morning  the  heavens  might 
open  and  send  forth  an  abundance  of  rain  upon 
the  sapless  woods  and  withered  grasses.  Nothing 
but  a  heavy  downpour  of  several  hours'  duration 
would  penetrate  the  parched  earth  far  enough  to 
quench  the  fire  which  was  well  into  the  root- 
filled  soil. 

Fire  rangers,  assisted  by  many  citizens,  includ- 
ing nearly  a  hundred  miners,  spent  the  night  in 
the  woods  at  the  edge  of  the  town,  cutting  down 
as  much  bush  as  was  possible,  and  clearing  it 
away  from  such  points  as  were  considered  dan- 
gerous connecting  links  with  Carlton  Mines.  By 
dawn  it  was  felt  that  the  night's  hard  toil  and 
the  precautions  taken  had  left  the  town  fairly 
secure. 

Shortly  after  daylight,  however,  the  rough 
trail  into  Carlton  Mines  was  dotted  for  miles 
with  settlers  hurrying  distractedly,  they  scarcely 
knew  where,  before  the  cruel  flames  that  had 
driven  them  from  their  homes,  and  that  had  by 
this  time  destroyed  those  homes  and  many  other 
results  of  several  years  of  hard  labour. 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  131 

All  sorts  of  vehicles,  from  home-made  toy- 
wagons  to  dump-carts  and  ranch-wagons  were 
loaded  with  household  effects,  some  of  which  had 
to  be  left  behind,  when  a  few  hours  later,  all  that 
most  people  could  hope  to  save  was  life  itself. 

By  six  o'clock,  fire,  church,  and  schoolbells 
clanged  out  their  general  alarm,  calling  every 
available  citizen  to  the  fire-fighting,  that  per- 
chance united  effort  might  save  the  town.  Al- 
ready huge  sparks  were  raining  upon  the  south- 
west section,  but  fortunately  in  that  section  the 
shacks  and  buildings  were  few  and  far  between. 
Yet  it  was  soon  apparent  that  the  fire-fighters 
could  not  hold  their  position,  even  there,  but 
would  have  to  take  up  a  fresh  stand  nearer  the 
town's  centre.  Every  household  was  on  guard; 
tubs,  barrels,  pails,  milkcans  and  kitchen  uten- 
sils were  filled  with  water,  and  for  a  time  the 
falling  sparks  were  quenched  almost  as  quickly 
as  they  fell.  Straddle-legged  on  the  ridge  of  the 
roofs  in  the  fire  zone,  boys  and  men  with  damp- 
ened clothes  were  kept  busy  extinguishing  the 
sparks  that  would  so  easily  ignite  shingles  upon 
which  no  rain  had  fallen  for  five  weeks. 

Throughout  these  long  anxious  hours,  when 
men  were  toiling  side  by  side  for  the  protection 
of  their  town  and  their  homes,  no  man  had  ac- 
quitted himself  more  worthily  than  the  stalwart 
minister  of  St.  Paul's  Church.    Until  that  night 


182  MASTERED  MEN 

no  one  knew  how  he  could  make  the  chips  fly 
from  the  tree  trunk,  and  when  the  most  needed 
work  was  the  turning  over  of  sods  to  arrest  the 
fire  running  through  the  dry  grass,  no  hands  were 
readier  than  those  of  the  Reverend  Walter  Nich- 
olson, and  when  his  palms  began  to  blister  and  to 
peel,  no  one  knew  of  it  except  himself. 

When,  after  the  general  alarm,  reinforcements 
arrived,  he  felt  he  could  no  longer  leave  his  loved 
ones  without  some  word  of  the  probable  and  im- 
mediate danger.  Stopping  at  only  one  or  two 
homes  on  the  way,  he  hastened  to  the  manse. 
Despite  the  seriousness  of  the  situation,  Mrs. 
Nicholson  could  not  restrain  her  laughter,  as  her 
husband  stood,  coatless  and  vestless,  at  the  door 
of  the  dining-room.  Pieces  of  coarse  string  had 
been  substituted  for  certain  important  buttons 
which  had  been  lost  in  his  strenuous  activity  at 
the  fire-fighting.  The  all-night's  toil  in  the  dirt 
and  the  smoke,  amidst  falling  ashes,  had  trans- 
formed the  immaculately  clean  husband  into  a 
dirt-begrimed  labourer. 

"It  looks  as  if  the  town  was  doomed,  Jess," 
he  commenced.  "The  brewery's  gone  (though 
that's  no  particular  loss),  and  a  number  of  shacks 
are  already  burnt  down.  I  must  get  right  back 
with  the  men,  but  in  the  meantime  you'd  better 
get  what  you  value  most  into  a  couple  of  valises. 
You'll  need  a  few  extra  clothes  for  the  young- 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  133 

sters  and  yourself.  Put  my  marginal  bible  and 
my  black  suit  in  if  you  can.  It's  of  no  use  try- 
ing to  take  much,  as  we  may  have  to  foot  it  for 
quite  a  distance.  The  'Eastbound'  hasn't  come 
in  yet,  and  it's  hard  to  get  any  information  be- 
cause the  wires  are  down,  but  it  looks  as  if  some 
of  the  bridges  had  been  burned,  so  there  isn't 
much  hope  of  getting  out  by  rail.  You  can  count 
on  me  being  back  in  about  half  an  hour." 

Mrs.  Nicholson,  as  a  bride,  had  brought  to  her 
Western  home  the  handiwork  of  three  busy 
years,  and  when  the  furnishing  had  been  com- 
pleted and  her  "extras"  tastefully  arranged,  the 
minister  and  his  young  wife  had  looked  with 
grateful  pride  upon  the  attractiveness  of  the 
manse.  During  the  ten  subsequent  years  her  en- 
thusiasm in  keeping  that  home  orderly,  clean  and 
cosy,  had  never  failed.  And  now  she  had  less 
than  half  an  hour  in  which  to  select  what  she 
most  desired  from  that  home  that  had  become 
endeared  by  ten  years  of  effort  to  keep  it,  as  it 
had  been  kept,  a  radiant  centre  of  helpfulness 
— and  that  selection  from  their  entire  earthly 
possessions  must  fit  the  narrow  compass  of  two 
valises. 

The  reader  who  is  able  to  imagine  Mrs.  Nich- 
olson's feelings  on  that  memorable  nineteenth 
day  of  August  will  readily  believe  that  a  few 
minutes  were  lost  in  the  feeling  of  helplessness 


134.  MASTERED  MEN 

as  to  what  was  best  to  select.  A  glance  through 
the  window  at  the  smoke-filled  street,  and  occa- 
sional sparks,  put  an  end  to  her  hesitancy.  What- 
ever was  to  be  done  must  be  done  quickly.  Her 
husband's  request  was  first  complied  with,  then 
such  clothing  as  she  and  the  children  might  need 
was  included,  and  a  small  supply  of  food  for  im- 
mediate needs.  Within  a  few  minutes  she  had 
gathered  together  the  few  articles  of  jewellery 
she  possessed,  a  package  of  business  papers,  a 
bit  of  silverware,  one  or  two  photographs,  and 
an  "encyclopaedic"  scrapbook  which  contained, 
among  many  other  interesting  items,  several 
newspaper  clippings  of  the  work  and  doings  of 
the  Rev.  W.  Nicholson.  From  her  much-prized 
secretary,  a  Christmas  gift  from  the  children  in 
her  Sunday  School  class,  she  took  a  locket  in 
which  was  a  small  curl  of  hair — her  mother's 
hair. 

In  her  hurried  packing  she  had  not  forgotten 
that  at  least  two  things  must  be  included  from 
her  box  of  relics  and  sentimental  treasures  in  the 
attic.  The  first  pair  of  baby  shoes  ever  worn 
in  the  manse  were  among  Mrs.  Nicholson's  most 
valued  reminders  of  the  happy  days  spent  in  car- 
ing for  Baby  Dorothy — now  a  bright  girl  of 
eight  years.  Whenever  a  visit  had  been  made  to 
the  box  in  the  attic,  the  little  shoes  were  always 
taken  out  and  looked  upon  with  a  loving  smile. 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  135 

There  were  many  other  articles  of  much  greater 
value  than  what  was  Mrs.  Nicholson's  final  se- 
lection, but  she  could  not  leave  "dear  little 
Hugh's  favourite  toy."  How  he  had  loved  that 
little  horse!  Even  after  the  terrible  accident 
that  had  left  the  "gee  gee"  noseless,  nothing 
could  ever  displace  it  in  his  affections.  For  at 
least  a  year  it  had  shared  his  bed  without  one 
night's  exception,  and  though  it  was  usually 
taken  from  his  arms  after  the  little  lad  had  fallen 
asleep,  it  was  always  placed  on  the  chair  at  the 
bed-side,  so  that  on  awakening  he  might  immedi- 
ately find  his  valued  wooden  friend.  And  when, 
during  his  long  and  fatal  illness,  he  was  unable 
to  take  an  interest  in  any  other  toys,  the  wasted 
hand  would  rest  for  hours  across  the  back  of  the 
broken  toy  horse.  And  so  the  noseless  little  ani- 
mal, with  its  stand  minus  two  wheels,  found  a 
place  among  the  most  valued  things  that  were 
chosen  from  the  well-furnished  manse  when  but 
a  brief  half -hour  was  given  in  which  to  make  a 
final  choice. 

The  thirty  minutes  had  not  fully  elapsed 
when  Mr.  Nicholson  came  rushing  in  to  say 
there  was  not  a  moment  to  lose.  The  wind  by 
this  time  had  increased  well-nigh  to  a  hurricane, 
and  no  force  of  men  could  have  protected  the 
buildings  from  the  fiery  embers  that  were  being 
hurled  in  large  quantities  in  all  directions. 


136  MASTERED  MEN 

Walter  Nicholson  went  forth  with  the  two 
valises  strapped  over  his  shoulders,  while  on  his 
left  arm  he  carried  his  eighteen  months'  old  baby- 
boy.  Close  behind  him  came  his  wife  with  a  few 
extra  wraps  thrown  over  one  arm,  and  her  free 
hand  clasping  that  of  the  trembling  little 
Dorothy.  Thus  the  Nicholson  family  departed 
from  the  manse,  that  twelve  hours  later  was 
nothing  but  a  heap  of  smouldering  ashes. 

The  streets  were  filled  with  terror-stricken 
people  laden  with  such  of  their  worldly  posses- 
sions as  their  strength  would  allow.  The  fierce 
wind  hastened  them  on  in  their  frenzied  race  for 
life.  Shouts,  shrieks,  agonized  cries  and  prayers 
greeted  the  ears  of  the  minister  and  his  wife  as 
they  joined  the  homeless  throng  on  the  streets 
of  Carlton  Mines.  "Every  house  in  Freeman's 
Terrace  is  burning."  "The  Methodist  Church 
is  ablaze."  "The  Opera  House  was  on  fire  when 
we  came  by."  "Oh,  my  God!  what'll  we  all 
do?"  "There  won't  be  a  house  left  in  town." 
"God  have  mercy  on  us!"  Such  were  the  cries 
from  scores  of  voices  in  the  terrified  crowd. 

Here  and  there  aged  and  sick  folk  were  being 
borne  in  the  arms  of  loved  ones  or  neighbours, 
although  each  one  rendering  such  willing  service 
knew  that  the  delay  involved  was  imperilling  his 
own  life.  Perhaps  the  saddest  sight  in  the  whole 
sad  procession  was  that  of  a  poor  Italian  woman, 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  137 

whose  little  girl  had  died  the  previous  morning. 
The  father  was  working  in  a  construction  gang 
several  miles  away,  and  the  word  of  the  child's 
death  had  not  yet  reached  him.  When  the  fire 
had  spread  to  the  humble  dwelling,  the  distracted 
and  sorrow-stricken  mother  could  not  endure  the 
thought  of  leaving  her  darling  to  the  devouring 
flames.  Tenderly  lifting  the  little  one  from  the 
casket,  she  wrapped  a  shawl  around  the  lifeless 
form  and  struggled  with  her  burden  alongside  of 
some  who  knew  not  what  she  carried.  Cries  and 
prayers  in  her  native  tongue  were  intermingled 
with  her  broken  English. 

Walter  Nicholson  had  forgotten  for  the  mo- 
ment that  the  previous  afternoon  he  had  heard 
of  the  poor  woman's  sorrow  and  had  fully  in- 
tended to  at  least  call  and  offer  such  sympathy 
and  help  as  was  possible.  But  the  call  to  the 
fire-fighting  had  caused  everything  else  to  be  put 
aside.  When,  however,  he  heard  the  pathetic 
wail,  "Oh,  ma  Annetta,  ma  leetle  Annetta,"  and 
glanced  at  the  strange-looking  bundle  the  Italian 
woman  was  carrying,  he  at  once  surmised  the 
meaning  of  it  all. 

Burdened  and  anxious  though  he  was,  he 
walked  alongside  of  the  lonely  mother  that  he 
might  share  her  burden  also.  The  sad-eyed  wo- 
man looked  into  his  face,  and  in  an  appealing 
tone  said,  "Please  not  mak'  her  go  from  me — 


138  MASTERED  MEN 

ma  dear  leetle  Annetta.  Da  father,  he  no  come 
yet.  Oh!  he  must  come  first!"  Walter  Nichol- 
son hurriedly  readjusted  his  baggage  and  then 
held  his  baby  boy  so  as  to  leave  his  right  arm 
free  to  give  the  poor  Italian  woman  such  sup- 
port as  was  possible.  The  assistance  given  was 
only  slight,  but  his  sympathetic  words  and  the 
touch  of  his  hand  soothed  a  little  the  aching  heart 
of  one  who  felt  that  day  the  loneliness  of  a  be- 
reaved stranger  in  a  strange  land. 

Information  was  passed  through  the  fleeing 
crowd  that  the  work-train  was  taking  the  people 
out  of  danger  as  rapidly  as  possible,  and  that  the 
best  course  to  pursue  was  to  make  for  the  rail- 
way station.  In  any  case,  the  railway  track  east- 
ward would  be  the  safest  highway  down  the 
Pass,  as  the  mountain  stream  two  miles  away 
might  be  reached  on  foot  if  necessary.  A  place 
of  at  least  temporary  protection  would  be  found 
there. 

Before  the  station-house  was  reached,  another 
member  was  added  to  the  Nicholson  party.  A 
lad  of  not  more  than  five  years  had  either  wan- 
dered away  from  his  home  before  his  friends  had 
felt  the  necessity  to  leave,  or  had  become  sepa- 
rated from  them  on  the  way.  At  any  rate,  he 
was  doing  his  very  best  to  make  everybody  ac- 
quainted with  the  fact  that  he  was  lost.  To  at- 
tempt to  locate  his  friends  was  out  of  the  ques- 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  139 

tion.  Mrs.  Nicholson  bent  over  him  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  her  words  and  looks  produced  a  quiet- 
ing effect  on  the  little  lad,  who  at  once  did  as  he 
was  bidden,  and  clung  to  one  of  the  wraps  on 
the  arm  of  his  newly-found  guardian. 

By  the  time  the  railway  station  was  reached 
the  fire  had  made  such  headway  that  it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  make  a  safe  return  as 
far  as  the  manse,  which  had  been  left  less  than 
fifteen  minutes  before.  The  frame  buildings  of 
which  most  of  the  town  was  composed  made  the 
onrush  of  the  flames  the  more  rapid. 

The  station  platform  was  packed  with  an  im- 
patient crowd  awaiting  the  return  of  the  work- 
train  which  had  already  made  two  trips  as  far 
as  the  coke-ovens  at  Twyford.  The  line  was 
single  track,  and  the  only  rolling-stock  available 
consisted  of  an  antiquated  engine  and  two  dingy 
passenger  cars  with  rough  board  seats  length- 
wise beneath  the  windows.  The  morning  of  the 
fire  there  had  been  added  to  these  cars  a  few 
open  coal  trucks.  The  old  engine  could  not  make 
the  grades  with  anything  but  a  light  train,  so 
that  it  was  seen  by  many  how  improbable  it  was 
that  all  those  then  waiting  could  find  transpor- 
tation before  the  buildings  around  them  would  be 
licked  up  by  the  approaching  fire.  Surrounding 
roofs  had  been  saturated  by  the  station  fire-hose, 
but  the  gauge-ball  on  the  water-tank  was  rapidly 


140  MASTERED  MEN 

lowering,  and  the  engineer  at  the  pump-house 
had  been  compelled  to  leave  his  post  half  an 
hour  before,  so  that  at  best  their  protection  by 
water  was  a  matter  of  only  an  hour  or  so. 

Yet  it  needed  no  small  amount  of  courage  to 
isolate  oneself  from  the  throng  and  to  pass  out 
of  sight  in  that  heavy  cloud  of  smoke  which  pre- 
vented one  seeing  more  than  a  short  distance 
ahead.  The  fire  now  seemed  to  have  gained 
headway  in  other  directions,  so  that  even  if  they 
went  forth  they  might  soon  find  themselves  in  a 
position  where  advance  and  retreat  were  alike 
impossible.  Frequent  explosions  and  loudly 
crackling  timbers  added  to  the  anxiety  of  those 
who  awaited  the  return  of  the  work-train. 

The  Rev.  Walter  Nicholson  was  soon  sur- 
rounded by  a  group  of  those  anxious  to  hear  any 
suggestion  he  had  to  make.  The  Station  Agent 
assured  him  that  even  if  the  track  remained  clear, 
at  least  two  additional  trips  would  need  to  be 
made  before  all  on  the  platform  could  be  re- 
moved to  a  place  of  safety.  "Then  the  wires 
are  dead,  Mr.  Nicholson,  and  we've  no  news  of 
any  other  train  being  on  the  way,  so  there  isn't 
a  minute  to  spare."  He  explained  that  the  sta- 
tion-yard might  be  a  comparatively  safe  place 
for  a  while,  yet,  in  view  of  the  extent  of  the  fire, 
those  remaining  might  find  themselves  hemmed 
in  and  have  difficulty  in  getting  over  the  burned 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  141 

and  burning  earth  for  many  hours.  Several 
buildings  west  of  the  station  had  already  col- 
lapsed, blocking  certain  portions  of  the  road-bed. 

A  number  decided  to  follow  the  minister's 
lead  and  start  on  the  journey  along  the  eastward 
track.  Mrs.  Nicholson  refused  to  remain  for  the 
train,  preferring  to  share  the  fortunes  or  misfor- 
tunes of  her  husband,  while  the  poor  Italian 
woman,  still  clinging  to  her  precious  burden, 
followed  every  move  her  sympathizer  made. 
Would  she  not  wait  and  try  to  get  on  the  train? 

"Oh,  no,  please  me  walk  wid  you.  I  will  be 
so  strong!"  Even  the  little  lad  refused  to  be 
transferred  to  the  care  of  others,  and  as  none 
were  particularly  anxious  to  add  to  their  respon- 
sibilities, there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  take 
him  along.  It  was  no  easy  task  that  the  Nichol- 
sons had  undertaken.  The  usual  heat  of  mid- 
August  was  intensified  by  many  miles  of  burn- 
ing bush,  while  the  smoke  added  greatly  to  the 
discomfort.  Then  the  poorly  ballasted  track 
made  walking  exceedingly  tiresome.  Yet  no 
complaints  were  uttered:  even  the  children  re- 
alized that  every  effort  must  be  made  to  reach 
the  stream  before  the  resistless  enemy  overtook 
them.  Little  more  than  half  a  mile  had  been 
covered  when  the  whistle  and  rumble  of  the 
work-train  announced  that  it  was  returning  for 
its  third  load  of  passengers.    A  glance  at  the  cars 


142  MASTERED  MEN 

as  the  train  passed  was  sufficient  to  show  that  fire 
had  broken  out  further  east,  at  some  point  be- 
tween the  pedestrians  and  Twyford.  The  old 
paint  was  covered  with  blisters,  and  many  of  the 
windows  were  badly  cracked  through  intense 
heat.  A  few  minutes  later  the  train  returned 
with  every  foot  of  space  occupied,  even  to  the 
steps  of  cars  and  engine.  A  number  of  pas- 
sengers tried  to  let  their  slower  fellow-travellers 
know  that  the  station-house  was  in  flames,  but 
the  noise  from  the  train  drowned  most  of  their 
words. 

The  inhabitants  of  Carlton  Mines  who  had  not 
driven  or  walked  out  earlier  in  the  day  or  been 
conveyed  on  the  railway  were  now  hastening  to 
the  limit  of  their  powers  in  the  direction  of  Twy- 
ford. Fortunately  for  the  almost  exhausted  pas- 
tor, the  last  half-mile  of  his  journey  was  made  a 
trifle  easier  by  the  voluntary  assistance  of  a 
rugged  Galician  girl  who  had  been  well  known 
at  the  manse.  One  small  coarse  bag  contained 
her  few  belongings,  and  accustomed  as  she  had 
been  to  long  walks  and  heavy  loads  when  she 
had  lived  on  the  Saskatchewan  prairie,  the  car- 
rying of  the  baby  boy  would  make  small  differ- 
ence to  her. 

And  so  at  last  the  mountain  stream  was 
reached,  and  after  crossing  the  bridge  the  wearied 
refugees  laid  down  their  burdens  on  the  pebbly 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  143 

bed  at  the  water's  edge.  At  that  point  the  width 
of  the  open  space  between  the  stream-divided 
bush  was  only  about  a  hundred  feet,  so  that  in 
case  the  fire  continued  its  course  the  danger  would 
still  be  very  great.  Already  they  had  seen 
showers  of  sparks  carried  much  farther  than  the 
short  distance  that  separated  the  banks  between 
which  they  stood,  and  there  was  every  proba- 
bility that  the  timber  on  each  side  of  the  stream 
would  be  ablaze  simultaneously. 

But  to  continue  their  flight  through  the  thick 
bush  that  lined  both  sides  of  the  track  for  miles 
might  be  to  place  themselves  in  a  much  worse 
plight.  Where  they  now  stood  was  an  abun- 
dance of  water,  and  fortunately  it  was  shallow 
enough  to  make  it  safe  for  all  to  stand  in  the 
centre  when  that  time  became  necessary.  It 
would  then  be  a  matter  of  endurance  against  the 
stifling  heat. 

Within  five  minutes  the  number  of  those  seek- 
ing refuge  at  the  stream  side  was  considerably 
over  a  hundred.  The  Station  Agent  was  the  last 
one  to  arrive,  and  reported  that  when  the  third 
train-load  was  leaving  the  railway  yards,  and 
the  station-house  was  seen  to  be  on  fire,  every- 
one had  immediately  set  out  on  foot.  He  had 
kept  in  the  rear  to  be  sure  that  no  one  was 
missing. 

Except  for  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  some  to 


144  MASTERED  MEN 

safeguard  certain  belongings  by  burying  them  in 
the  gravel,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait — 
and  to  many  the  moments  seemed  as  hours.  It 
was  a  race  between  old  Dave  Minehan,  the  driver 
on  the  antiquated  engine  from  the  East,  and  the 
devouring  elements  from  the  southwest.  Which 
would  reach  them  first?  A  few  men  acted  as 
sentinels,  and  paced  the  track  to  discover  the 
progress  of  the  fire.  The  wind  had  dropped  a 
little,  but  the  flames  were  still  making  rapid 
headway,  and  very  soon  no  report  was  needed 
from  the  outposts — the  fire's  own  voice  could  be 
heard  only  too  plainly.  The  agent  figured  out 
that  the  work-train  had  been  due  over  ten 
minutes — something  must  have  happened! 
Surely  the  train-crew  realized  the  need  of  the 
courageous  ones  who  had  voluntarily  walked, 
and  of  the  others  for  whom  no  accommodation 
was  possible. 

Flames  were  now  visible  to  all  who  were  close 
to  the  bridge,  and  the  scorching  heat,  the  stifling 
smoke,  and  the  ash-laden  wind  combined  to  make 
waiting  almost  unendurable.  Brows  of  fainting 
ones  were  being  bathed  in  the  merciful  stream, 
and  the  strongest  were  becoming  fearful. 

"Thank  God,  she's  coming!"  The  shout  was 
from  the  throat  of  the  Station  Agent  who  had 
been  down  the  track  listening  for  the  return  of 
the  work-train.     The  words  had  scarcely  ended 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  145 

when  the  shrill  whistle  from  the  little  engine 
confirmed  the  statement. 

When  a  few  days  later  a  number  of  men  were 
discussing  the  disaster,  one  of  them  spoke  for 
each  individual  at  the  stream  when  he  said, 
"Say!  I  used  to  hate  that  blooming  raspy 
whistle,  but  that  day  it  was  the  finest  bit  of  mu- 
sic I  ever  heard." 

Dave  Minehan  siowed  up  as  he  neared  the 
bridge,  and  the  Agent  signalled  him  to  stop,  and 
at  once  scrambled  aboard  to  let  him  know  that 
everybody  had  reached  the  bridge  and  that  there 
was  no  need  to  try  to  go  farther.  Old  Dave  was 
trembling  with  excitement  and  irritation,  but 
just  then  he  had  no  time  to  tell  of  the  fretful 
delay  over  a  hot  box,  and  all  the  trouble  en- 
tailed in  putting  in  a  new  "brass"  at  Twyford 
— and  neither  then  nor  later  did  he  tell  of  the 
terrible  strain  that  he  had  endured  in  taking  his 
train  through  a  piece  of  blazing  bush  three  miles 
down. 

The  eager,  frightened  people  were  rushing  up 
the  banks,  but  Dave  kept  his  train  moving  until 
it  was  about  midway  on  the  bridge.  From  the 
cab  he  shouted  to  them  to  "keep  off."  The  mo- 
ment he  brought  his  train  to  a  standstill  he 
leaped  from  his  engine  and  again  thundered  the 
same  prohibition.  Sharply  he  yelled  to  the  men 
to  line  up  and  form  a  bucket-brigade.    The  fire- 


146  MASTERED  MEN 

man  passed  a  dozen  buckets  from  the  tender,  and 
Dave,  with  harsh  and  hasty  commands,  got  the 
men  on  their  job.  For  about  five  minutes,  with 
a  rapidity  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a 
trained  brigade,  the  double  line  passed  the 
buckets  and  old  Dave  dashed  the  water  over 
such  portions  of  the  cars  as  in  his  judgment 
needed  the  protection.  In  the  meantime  he  had 
ordered  the  rest  of  the  men  to  soak  a  few  camp 
blankets  that  he  had  taken  the  precaution  to 
bring  along.  "There's  one  bad  spot  where  you'll 
maybe  need  to  cover  yourselves  a  bit:  it'll  be 
raining  fire  by  when  we  get  back — better  give 
your  coats  and  hats  a  dip  too,  boys !  Get  a  move 
on!" 

It  was  no  longer  possible  to  remain  on  the 
bridge.  The  old  engineer  shouted  "All  aboard," 
and  hurried  back  to  his  engine.  The  women  and 
children  were  rushed  into  the  passenger  car.  At 
one  end  stood  the  Nicholsons,  while  in  the  corner 
the  bereaved  Italian  mother  sat  with  her  lifeless 
child.  More  than  once  had  the  minister  felt 
that  he  must  insist  on  her  leaving  her  burden  be- 
hind, but  each  time  that  he  glanced  at  the  sad 
face  and  saw  the  passionate  pleading  of  her  eyes, 
and  observed  the  tender  clasp  of  the  mother 
arms,  his  courage  deserted  him. 

The  last  foot  was  scarcely  off  the  ground  when 
old   Dave   reversed   the   lever   and   opened   the 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  147 

throttle,  and  with  a  jerk  the  train  started  once 
more. 

Let  the  brakeman  tell  the  story  of  the  return 
trip,  as  we  heard  it  from  his  lips  months  after  in 
one  of  the  temporary  buildings  that  had  arisen 
among  the  ashheaps  of  Carlton  Mines. 

"Yes,  siree,  you  just  bet  it  kept  me  firing  that 
morning.  The  west-bound  express  was  away 
late,  or  it  could  have  got  the  whole  crowd  out  in 
two  trips.  I  never  thought  "Old  98"  would 
stand  the  gait  she  did  that  day.  On  that  last 
trip  we  hit  a  clip  both  ways  that  would  make 
your  hair  stand.  Davie  was  bound  to  get  them 
people  to  Twyford.  We  got  a  scorching  on  the 
up-trip  let  me  tell  you.  Gosh !  it  seemed  like  we 
was  running  through  Nebuchadnezzar's  furnace. 
I  wondered  if  Davie  would  face  the  return  trip, 
'cause  the  blaze  was  getting  worse  every  minute. 
I  moved  over  to  him  and  asked  him  if  he  was 
going  to  try  it.  Whew !  I  wish  you  could  have 
seen  him!  He  hadn't  cooled  off  from  the  mad 
he  had  on  at  Twyford.  We  had  to  put  a  'brass' 
on  the  front  car,  and  when  the  boys  down  there 
couldn't  find  their  jackscrews,  Davie  got  rip- 
tearing  mad,  'cause  he  knew  what  the  rest  of  the 
crowd  at  Carlton  was  up  against,  and  he  was 
scared  he  might  be  too  late.  Well,  sir,  he  dumped 
all  the  bad  language  what  was  in  his  system  on 
me.     It  was  the  kind  you  don't  put  in  mother's 


148  MASTERED  MEN 

letter.    He  finished  up  with  the  sickliest  kind  of 

smile  I  ever  set  eyes  on,  and  yelled,  'You 

fool:  do  you  think  I'm  up  here  on  a  Sunday 
School  picnic1?  But  Davie  knew  what  was  what 
when  we  reached  the  bridge.  He  lined  up  the 
bosses  and  parsons  and  the  rest  of  that  crowd 
like  he  was  a  British  General.  And  he  got  his 
orders  obeyed  in  double-quick  time  too. 

"But  it  was  that  last  down-trip  that  this  child 
won't  need  a  diary  to  remember  by!  Gee!  you 
know  that  curve  about  a  mile  and  a  half  below 
the  bridge*?  Well,  we'd  got  most  all  the  head 
on  we  could  carry,  and  I  was  feeling  about  as 
safe  as  if  I  was  having  a  smoke  on  a  can  of  dyna- 
mite. I  was  watching  for  Dave  to  slow  up  for 
the  curve,  but  blame  me  if  he  didn't  open  the 
throttle  another  notch. 

"As  Billy  S would  say,  'Religion  isn't  my 

long  suit,'  but  I  got  ready  to  say  my  prayers;  I 
backed  up  a  bit  into  the  coal-bunker,  and  gripped 
the  side  of  the  tender,  and  I  told  the  Almighty 
I  hadn't  bothered  Him  much  for  a  long  time,  but 
that  if  He'd  keep  the  cars  on  the  track  around 
the  curve  I'd  be  much  obliged.  Seemed  to  me 
like  some  of  them  cars  jumped  clean  off  the  rails, 
and  I  thought  we  were  on  the  home  stretch  to 
Kingdomcome,  but  Davie  brought  us  through 
O.K.  Did  we  pass  through  much  fire?  Well,  I 
should  say!    There  wasn't  a  rail  or  post  for  half 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  149 

a  mile  that  wasn't  burning.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  the  way  Davie  soused  them  cars,  and  got  the 
fellows  to  fix  their  coats  and  the  blankets,  we'd 
never  have  made  it. 

"Did  you  see  the  watch  they  gave  Davie? 
Get  him  to  show  it  to  you !  It's  a  dandy — solid 
gold — got  a  whole  lot  of  writing  on  the  back — 
something  about  'a  tribute  to  Mr.  Dave  Mine- 
han's  courage  and  skill  in  the  face  of  grave  dan- 
ger and  difficulty.'  He  don't  say  much,  but  he's 
as  tickled  about  it  as  the  fellow  what  got  a 
Christmas-box  of  sealskin  underclothes.  Davie's 
all  right,  you  bet.  I'd  rather  lire  for  him  on  'Old 
98'  than  for  any  guy  I  know  on  a  big  Mogul. 
He's  a  bit  rough-like  sometimes,  but  if  he  can 
help  anybody  he's  on  the  job;  he'd  break  his  neck 
to  do  somebody  a  good  turn." 

Such  was  the  brakeman's  narration  of  Dave 
Minehan's  final  race  on  "Old  98,"  on  the  day 
that  Carlton  Mines  was  levelled  by  the  bush  fire. 

The  shadows  of  evening  had  fallen  over  Twy- 
ford  on  what  is  still  regarded  in  Carlton  Mines 
as  "disaster  day."  The  afternoon  had  been  a 
busy  one  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  almost  ver- 
dureless  village  that  is  known  chiefly  for  its  long 
lines  of  coke-ovens.  Generous  hearts  had  made 
shacks  and  homes  have  an  expansive  hospitality 
that  would  have  seemed  incredible  before  the 


150  MASTERED  MEN 

homeless  throng  arrived.  But  after  every  avail- 
able lodging  device  had  been  resorted  to  there 
were  many  people  unprovided  for.  And  so  the 
coke-ovens  were  the  best  accommodation  that 
could  be  offered  those  still  unhoused. 

In  one  of  these  unusual  lodging-houses  a  candle 
cast  its  dim  light  over  the  figures  of  two  men  and 
a  woman  who  were  kneeling  in  the  attitude  of 
prayer.  In  one  corner  a  black  box  rested  on  two 
backless  chairs.  It  had  been  made  an  hour  or 
two  before  by  the  local  carpenter,  and  covered 
with  black  cloth  by  the  kindly  hands  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Nicholson.  Little  Annette  was  to  be  laid 
away  in  the  early  morning,  and  this  was  the  best 
that  loving  hearts  could  devise  in  that  place  and 
under  those  circumstances.  The  manse  valises 
had  made  their  contribution  to  the  final  robing 
of  little  Annette,  and  the  weeping  mother,  look- 
ing upon  what  Christ-like  friends  had  done, 
clasped  and  kissed  the  hands  that  had  dealt  so 
kindly  with  her  and  her  "leetle  Annetta."  For 
nearly  eight  hours  the  father  had  walked  seeking 
his  wife,  and  now  they  were  kneeling  together  in 
the  presence  of  their  dead  child. 

Walter  Nicholson's  voice  was  tremulous  with 
sympathy  as  he  commended  the  sorrow-stricken 
strangers  to  the  all-pitying  Father.  The 
mourners  did  not  understand  all  that  was  ut- 
tered, but  they  understood  the  spirit  that  was 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  151 

manifested  and  were  deeply  grateful.  A  few 
words  of  comfort  were  spoken,  and  the  minister 
passed  out  into  the  darkness  to  another  oven  in 
which  his  own  loved  ones  were  awaiting  his  re- 
turn. Mrs.  Nicholson  was  sitting  on  a  box  with 
Dorothy  on  her  knee.  Angus  and  the  five-year- 
old  stranger  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  ashy  floor. 
No  trace  had  been  discovered  of  the  lad's  friends. 
He  could  give  little  information  beyond  the  fact 
that  his  name  was  Hans  Kuyper,  and  that  he 
was  "losted."  Mrs.  Nicholson  had  quieted  the 
wee  chap's  fears,  by  assuring  him  that  his  mother 
would  come  soon,  and  though,  with  darkness  at 
hand  and  no  sign  of  mother,  a  few  tears  had  been 
shed,  it  was  not  long  before  the  wearied  and  worn 
child  was  asleep. 

The  husband  and  father  sat  alongside  of  his 
loved  ones  in  sympathetic  silence  for  a  few 
minutes.  The  all-night's  toil,  the  hours  of  so- 
licitude for  others,  the  heat  of  the  day,  the  bur- 
dens carried,  the  sympathy  extended  and  the  dis- 
comforts endured,  had  combined  to  produce  a 
feeling  of  depression.  "We  have  lost  everything, 
Jess:  maybe  I'll  feel  better  by  morning,  but  to- 
night I've  lost  my  courage  as  well  as  everything 
else,  and  I  can  scarcely  bear  to  think  of  the 
future." 

Little  Dorothy  placed  herself  between  her 
father's  knees,   and  looking  lovingly   into  eyes 


152  MASTERED  MEN 

where  the  unbidden  tears  had  forced  themselves, 
said  quietly,  "Isn't  it  a  good  thing,  daddy,  that 
you  haven't  lost  mamma  and  Angus  and  me?" 

Walter  Nicholson  enfolded  the  child  in  his 
big  arms  and  kissed  the  curl-encircled  face. 
"Yes!  God  bless  you,  little  sunbeam,  that  is  a 
good  thing,  and  maybe  daddy  was  forgetting. 
Now  let  us  say  the  twenty-third  Psalm  and  have 
our  good-night  prayer." 

With  sometimes  unsteady  voices  the  three  re- 
peated the  Psalm  they  had  so  often  joined  in  at 
home  under  such  different  circumstances.  Then 
father,  mother  and  child  knelt  beside  the  box, 
and  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving  and  a  cry  for 
strength  came  from  a  thankful  but  needy  heart. 
Walter  Nicholson's  arm  rested  on  Dorothy's 
shoulder,  and  his  voice  quivered  again  as  he 
thought  of  the  little  black  box  in  the  near-by 
oven,  and  prayed  for  those  to  whom  the  past 
hours  had  brought  a  double  sorrow  that  had  left 
them  homeless  and  childless. 

As  was  her  custom,  Dorothy  offered  up  her 
own  prayer  at  her  mother's  knee.  A  sweet  con- 
fidence in  religious  matters  had  always  existed 
between  child  and  mother,  and  there  was  never 
any  restraint  in  the  expression  of  the  little  one's 
thought  toward  God.  Tired  though  she  was, 
her  "poetry  prayers,"  as  she  called  them,  were 
said  in  full,  and  then  her  own  additions  followed. 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  153 

"Thank  you  for  taking  care  of  us  all,  and  we  are 
glad  that  papa  and  mamma  and  Angus  and 
Dorothy  are  all  here.  Help  the  little  boy's 
mamma  to  find  him,  and  please  to  take  care  of 
the  poor  Italian  woman  now  that  her  little  girl 
is  gone  to  heaven.  Bless  papa  and  mamma  and 
Angus,  and  make  me  a  good  girl,  and  please  help 
us  to  get  another  home  soon,  for  Jesus'  sake. 
Amen." 

The  fire  had  almost  spent  itself  by  nightfall, 
and  with  the  dawn  the  long-wished-for  rain  be- 
gan to  fall.  By  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  the 
danger  of  any  further  outbreak  was  past.  The 
construction  gang  from  the  East,  and  a  number 
of  section  men  from  the  West,  were  immediately 
put  to  work  at  clearing  the  track  and  repairing 
culverts  and  bridges. 

By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  a  number  of 
men  who  had  fled  from  the  burning  town  were 
able  to  make  the  return  trip.  For  four  or  five 
miles  the  outlook  from  the  car-windows  was  a 
very  dreary  one.  The  underbrush  had  been  en- 
tirely burned  up,  and  of  the  standing  timber  little 
but  charred,  jagged  remnants  of  tree-trunks  re- 
mained. Only  here  and  there  had  a  telegraph 
pole  escaped,  and  even  the  protruding  ends  of 
many  of  the  railway  ties  had  smouldered  to  the 
ballast. 

The  entire  business  section  of  Carlton  Mines 


154*  MASTERED  MEN 

was  destroyed.  A  few  isolated  buildings  in  the 
residential  portion  northwest,  and  a  few  in  the 
northeast  had  escaped,  but  all  the  rest  had  been 
reduced  to  ashes.  What  could  be  done  under 
such  circumstances'?  Who  would  have  the  cour- 
age to  attempt  a  fresh  start  and  face  all  the  dif- 
ficulties arising  out  of  such  a  disaster?  Who? 
Every  man  who  that  afternoon  stood  gazing  at 
those  ash-heaps.  With  that  inextinguishable  op- 
timism that  has  its  headquarters  in  Western 
Canada,  they  began  then  and  there  to  formulate 
their  plans.  Several  contracts  for  rebuilding  were 
signed  before  night,  and  ere  the  ashes  were  cold, 
men  started  to  rear  a  new  and  better  town. 

The  preacher,  with  the  rest  of  the  impover- 
ished ones,  went  back  to  his  job.  Not  only  did 
he  assist  in  clearing  away  the  debris,  in  prepara- 
tion for  a  new  church  and  manse,  but  many  a  lift 
did  he  give  to  others  who  were  busily  engaged  in 
getting  a  roof  over  their  heads. 

During  the  months  of  rebuilding  he  preached 
successively  in  the  open-air,  in  shack-restaurant, 
sawmill,  hotel,  opera-house,  and  finally,  after 
many  disappointments  and  discouragements,  in 
the  new  church. 

Among  the  interesting  contributions  received 
by  Mr.  Nicholson  for  the  Building  Fund,  was 
one  from  the  mother  of  the  boy  who  was  "losted." 
When  on  the  morning  of  the  fire  she  was  com- 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  155 

pelled  to  hastily  leave  her  dwelling,  she  felt  quite 
sure  her  little  lad  was  with  some  of  his  playmates 
in  a  neighbour's  home.  On  the  way  she  dis- 
covered that  her  friends  had  already  departed, 
but  she  was  still  hopeful  that  her  boy  was  in  their 
care.  And  so  she  had  very  gladly  accepted  a  ride 
in  one  of  the  last  vehicles  leaving  the  town,  and, 
after  a  rough  and  rapid  drive,  had  reached  a  min- 
ing camp  a  mile  or  two  south  of  Twyford.  Her 
friends  had  gone  in  a  different  direction,  and  it 
was  over  twenty-four  hours  before  she  found 
them. 

They  could  give  her  no  news  of  her  lost  boy, 
and  she  began  to  fear  that  he  had  never  left  the 
town.  Two  days  later,  without  having  received 
any  word  of  his  whereabouts,  she  suddenly  saw 
him,  riding  "pickaback"  with  arms  twined  around 
the  neck  of  the  Rev.  Walter  Nicholson. 

Mr.  Nicholson  still  delights  to  tell  how  the 
mother  and  child  were  unexpectedly  brought  face 
to  face  as  he  was  turning  the  corner  of  a  build- 
ing. He  professes  to  have  confused  memories 
of  certain  details,  but  states  that  before  he  had 
a  chance  to  get  the  lad  from  his  shoulders  or 
extricate  himself,  he  was  the  centre  of  the  most 
vigorous  hugging  and  kissing  imaginable.  When 
the  overjoyed  mother  learned  all  that  had  taken 
place,  her  gratitude  to  those  who  had  befriended 
her    boy    was    simply    unbounded.      For    some 


156  MASTERED  MEN 

months  after  the  fire  she  struggled  along  in  a 
small  shack  several  miles  away  from  Carlton 
Mines.  The  following  letter  from  her  to  Mr. 
Nicholson  is  reproduced  exactly  as  written,  ex- 
cept for  corrections  in  spelling: 

"Dear  Sir, — I  shall  thank  you  very  much  for 
what  you  have  done  to  me.  Never  will  I  not 
forget  it.  It  is  sorry  for  me  that  I  not  can  write 
much  English.  Dear  Sir,  I  am  well  here,  but  the 
work  is  very  still  and  so  we  not  can  get  money. 
I  went  to  the  church  on  all  the  Sunday.  I  am 
glad  to  be  a  better  woman.  I  wish  you  my  bless- 
ing and  Hans  do  it  too.  After  25th  I  will  send 
you  $1.00  for  your  another  church. — G.  Kuy- 
per." 

The  one  dollar  arrived  in  due  time,  and  know- 
ing the  sacrifice  it  involved,  it  was  valued  out  of 
all  proportion  to  the  amount. 

Walter  Nicholson's  courage  in  facing  the  fu- 
ture did  not  fail.  He  stayed  at  his  post  until 
his  work  was  completed.  To  "preach  to  a  pro- 
cession," as  the  work  in  some  districts  has  fre- 
quently been  described,  to  face  an  appalling  in- 
difference on  the  part  of  some,  and  a  cynical  an- 
tagonism on  the  part  of  others,  and  to  struggle 
along  with  an  inadequate  income,  constitutes  a 
task  that  only  the  bravest  can  face  year  after 
year,  yet  in  the  face  of  all  this  he  said  cheer- 


THE  BUSH  FIRE  157 

fully,  "I've  seen  a  lot  of  preachers  come  and  go, 
but  I  think  God  wants  me  here,  and  the  need  is 
call  enough  for  any  man,  so  here  I  stay  as  long 
as  He  wills.  I've  had  many  rewards,  and  I  thank 
God  I've  had  the  chance  to  do  my  bit  in  this 
great  Westland." 


CHAPTER  XII 

RUTH    AND    THE    PRODIGAL 

"Isn't  he  awful  looking,  Mother4?  Why  does 
daddy  let  him  come  in  so  much?  I  don't  like  the 
way  the  study  smells  after  he's  been  in." 

Little  Ruth,  of  a  village  manse,  made  many 
other  observations,  and  asked  many  other  ques- 
tions as  a  poor,  wretched-looking  man  shuffled 
across  the  lawn  in  the  early  evening  of  an  autumn 
day. 

The  mother's  smile  changed  quickly  to  a  look 
of  sadness,  and  giving  the  wee  girl  a  kiss,  she 
said,  "Mother  will  tell  Ruthie  all  about  it  at 
story-time  to-night." 

From  the  Children's  Bible  Story  Book  that 
night  the  mother  read  of  the  Prodigal  Son.  There 
were  a  number  of  interruptions  from  the  occu- 
pant of  the  little  bed:  "Why  didn't  he  go  home 
before  he  got  so  dreadful  hungry,  Mother*?" 
"Where  was  his  mother?"  "Why  did  his  father 
run  so  far?" 

After  answering  many  questions  the  mother 

continued:  "There  are  lots  and  lots  of  prodigal 

sons  still  living;  men  who  have  been  bad,  and 

15S 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  159 

who  then,  like  some  little  children  who  have 
been  naughty,  run  away  from  those  who  love 
them  best.  And  all  the  time  those  who  love  them 
are  wishing  so  much  that  they  would  come  back, 
and  say  they  are  sorry  and  that  they  will  try  to 
be  better.  God  is  our  Father,  and  He  loves  every- 
body; you  know  what  we  often  say  when  daddy 
has  prayers:  'For  God  so  loved  the  world  that 
He  gave  His  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever 
believeth  on  Him  should  not  perish,  but  have 
everlasting  life.'  Well,  darling,  you  wanted  to 
know  why  daddy  let  poor  Mr.  Gage  come  in  so 
often*?  He  lets  him  come  because  God  would 
let  him  come.  The  poor  man  thinks  that  God 
doesn't  want  him  because  he's  been  so  bad,  and 
because  he's  gone,  oh !  so  far  away,  and  daddy  is 
trying  to  tell  him  that  God  does  want  him,  and 
that  God  will  take  care  of  him  if  he  will  only 
love  Him  and  trust  Him,  like  you  trust  daddy 
and  mother  to  take  care  of  you.  Mr.  Gage  is 
awful  looking  because  sin  is  awful,  and  he  has 
let  sin  be  his  master  instead  of  God.  But 
mother's  darling  will  be  nice  and  kind  to  him, 
because  God  loves  him,  and  we  must  love  those 
whom  God  loves.  Perhaps  some  day  you  will 
see  him  look  as  much  different  as  the  Prodigal 
Son  looked  after  he  came  back  home." 

Ruth  did  not  altogether  forget  her  mother's 
words,    and   when    the   half-drunken   man   was 


160  MASTERED  MEN 

brought  to  the  Manse  for  a  meal  a  little  later  on 
in  the  week,  she  somewhat  timorously  handed 
him  two  or  three  asters  that  she  had  picked  from 
the  garden.  John  Gage  looked  a  little  embar- 
rassed, and  at  first  seemed  inclined  to  leave  them 
in  Ruth's  possession,  but  the  little  hand  remained 
outstretched,  and  with  sweet  winsomeness  the 
child  told  him  she  had  picked  them  for  him. 

"Picked  them  for  me!  Well,  well!  then  I 
guess  I'll  take  them.    Thank  you." 

On  several  occasions,  as  he  sauntered  around 
the  village,  his  attention  was  arrested  by  a  child- 
ish voice  calling  him  by  name,  so  that  he  came 
to  feel  he  had  a  friend  in  the  minister's  little 
girl. 

There  were  many  head-shakings  among  the 
village  wiseacres  regarding  the  minister's  interest 
in  John  Gage.  It  was  generally  agreed  that 
while  the  preacher  was  well-meaning  enough,  his 
knowledge  of  human  nature  was  not  very  keen. 
The  village  constable  knew  John  so  well  that  he 
felt  able  to  speak  authoritatively  on  the  matter. 
"  'Tain't  no  use,  young  man,"  he  said  to  the 
preacher.  "We  wus  talking  about  him  the  other 
day  in  Cyrus  Haag's  blacksmith  shop,  and  every 
man  says  the  same  as  I  do.  He's  just  a-bleeding 
you,  that's  all.  Five  years'  hard  labour  is  what 
he  needs;  s'long  as  you'll  take  care  of  him  when 
he's  drunk,  and  feed  him  when  he's  broke,  he'll 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  161 

[just  bum  around.  Don't  I  know  the  whole 
bunch?  Didn't  me  and  the  county  constable  ar- 
rest his  father  when  he  pretty  nigh  murdered 
Sam  Collins'?  Ain't  his  brother  in  Kingston 
Penitentiary  this  very  minute?  The  only  way 
to  improve  them  fellers  is  to  hang  'em." 

The  authoritative  information  having  been 
given  the  preacher,  there  was  no  further  need  of 
sympathy  for  him  if  he  wilfully  rejected  the 
constable's  gratuitous,  labour-and-money-saving 
counsel. 

And  the  passing  of  the  weeks  seemed  to  con- 
firm the  "  'tain't-no-use"  judgment.  People  liv- 
ing near  the  Manse  reported  everything  that  hap- 
pened, and  a  good  deal  that  did  not  happen,  in 
connection  with  the  visits  of  John  Gage  and 
others  of  his  type,  for  it  was  generally  known 
that  the  preacher  was  "easy."  But  the  preacher 
went  on  with  his  work,  and  whatever  the  results 
of  his  efforts  might  be,  nobody  ever  doubted  his 
belief  in  the  Gospel  he  preached. 

Every  Sabbath  evening,  in  some  form  or  other, 
he  dealt  with  the  Fact  of  Sin  and  its  Soul- 
destroying  power.  He  knew  that  "sin  and  pun- 
ishment go  through  the  world  with  their  heads 
tied  together,"  but  he  knew  also,  and  he  preached 
it  as  a  fact  that  for  him  was  beyond  all  con- 
troversy, that  by  immediate  act  of  God  salvation 
might  come,  and  had  come,  delivering  the  life 


162  MASTERED  MEN 

from  the  gripping,  enslaving,  murderous  power 
of  sin. 

^  jf:  *  *  * 

The  year  was  drawing  to  its  close.  The  little 
village  had  its  share  of  Christmas  festivities,  and 
family  reunions  were  taking  place.  There  were 
men  from  the  East,  and  men  from  the  West,  back 
in  the  old  haunts  for  the  holiday  season.  Won- 
derful stories  of  material  success  were  told  as 
"the  boys"  from  the  West  expounded  the  oppor- 
tunities of  the  prairie  provinces.  As  is  too  often 
the  case,  the  bar-room  was  the  main  social  centre 
of  week-day  life  in  the  village,  and  John  Gage 
was  always  ready  to  fall  into  line  when  the  pros- 
perous ones  gave  the  all-inclusive  invitation, 
"Come  on,  boys."  And  so  long  as  John  helped 
to  swell  the  receipts,  his  drunken  presence  was 
tolerated  around  the  bar.  Scores  of  times  did  he 
join  in  the  greeting  "A  Merry  Christmas,"  and 
the  merrier  it  seemed  to  be  to  the  frequenters  of 
the  Derby  House  bar,  the  sadder  it  really  was  to 
the  homes  from  which  they  came. 

Weeks  of  drinking,  followed  by  the  revelry  of 
Christmas,  brought  John  to  such  a  condition  that 
when  the  bar-room  closed  on  Saturday  night  he 
was  turned  out  of  the  house,  and  a  little  later 
dragged  out  of  a  corner  of  the  drive-shed,  and 
told  to  "get  clean  away"  from  the  premises. 

There  was  a  strange  look  about  the  man  on  this 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  163 

particular  Saturday  night — a  wild,  almost  savage 
appearance.  He  stood  a  moment  on  the  side- 
walk as  if  uncertain  of  his  whereabouts,  and  then 
turned  and  walked  in  the  direction  of  the  Manse. 

The  minister  answered  the  door-bell,  and  with- 
out a  word  John  walked  right  in  and  through  the 
hall  to  the  study.  At  last  he  spoke.  "You — 
told — me — to — come — any — time.  I — want — 
to — stay — here — to-night."  Then,  with  body 
bent,  and  as  if  in  pain,  with  arms  crossed,  he 
rocked  himself  to  and  fro.  "Oh,  God!  but  I'm 
sick;  three  days  nothing  but  whiskey:  I've  got  it 
to-night  for  sure." 

After  much  persuading  the  minister  had  the 
man  in  bed.  The  mistress  of  the  Manse  had 
prepared  strong  coffee  as  fast  as  her  trembling 
body  would  let  her.  Once  before  she  had  passed 
through  a  night  such  as  she  feared  this  would  be, 
and  the  prospect  might  well  make  her  timorous. 
But  the  Manse  and  its  furniture  had  three  years 
ago  been  pledged  to  His  service,  and  she  mur- 
mured not. 

The  doctor  had  been  sent  for,  but  he  was  on 
a  country  call,  and  was  not  expected  back  until 
eleven. 

At  one  end  of  the  bedroom  the  minister  sat 
watching  John  Gage.  In  some  way  the  drink- 
inflamed  man  had  placed  under  his  pillow  an 
old  revolver  and  a  short  stiletto.     After  a  time 


164*  MASTERED  MEN 

the  hands  clasped  these  with  a  vice-like  grip. 
Suddenly  standing  out  on  the  carpet  he  looked 
at  the  preacher,  and  said,  "Why  in  the  devil 
don't  you  go  home?  D'you  want  a  fight?  Say! 
I  could  rip  you  so's  they'd  have  to  pick  you  up 
in  baskets." 

A  little  later  he  imagined  he  was  once  more 
on  the  South  African  battle-field.  With  a  sick- 
ening shudder  he  pointed  to  where  his  deluded 
eyes  saw  again  the  wounded  and  bleeding.  "My 
God !  see  that  poor  devil  with  his  leg  nearly  off ! 
Look!  ain't  that  awful.  See  that  one  squirming! 
— him  yonder  with  his  head  half  open!"  Then 
straightening  himself,  he  said,  as  if  addressing 
some  audience,  "Friends,  I  say,  and  I  know,  war 
is  hell!" 

From  time  to  time,  under  persuasion,  he  would 
return  to  his  bed.  Once  he  imagined  he  was  driv- 
ing down  the  old  concession  road  near  his  grand- 
father's farm  as  in  boyhood  days.  The  sheets 
were  jerked  and  handled  as  if  reins.  "Well,  now, 
this  is  a  slow  horse.  It  will,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, be  quite  appropriate  to  sing  'we  won't  get 
home  till  morning.'  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do — I'll 
put  the  horse  in  the  rig,  and  I'll  get  in  the  shafts, 
and  then  there'll  be  a  horse  in  the  buggy  and  an 
ass  in  the  shafts,  but  we'll  make  better  time." 
Then  followed  a  weird  burst  of  laughter. 

The  doctor  arrived  about  midnight.     For  a 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL         165 

couple  of  hours  he  watched  the  effect  of  his  treat- 
ment, but  rest  would  not  come  to  the  occupant  of 
the  guest-room.  The  eyes  would  appear  to  be 
closing  in  sleep,  and  then  would  suddenly  open 
wide  as  if  their  owner  were  in  terror  of  some 
impending  disaster.  Then  the  danger  spot 
seemed  to  have  been  located,  and  with  a  series 
of  jerks  the  head  was  raised  higher  and  higher 
until  John  was  sitting  up  in  bed.  Never  once 
did  the  gaze  leave  the  corner  of  the  room.  With 
the  utmost  stealth,  first  one  foot  and  then  the 
other  was  pushed  from  under  the  bedclothes  to 
the  floor.  Very  slowly  and  noiselessly,  with  knife 
still  gripped,  the  demon-possessed  man  glided 
toward  the  corner.  With  great  caution,  as  if 
measuring  the  distance,  he  bent  the  left  knee,  and 
at  the  same  time  lifted  the  right  hand  ready  to 
strike.  Then  with  blasphemous  exclamations  he 
stabbed  the  imaginary  monstrosities.  Again  and 
again  he  seemed  hurled  back  as  by  some  real 
enemy  in  the  fight.  At  last  the  knife  went  deep 
into  the  floor,  and  he  seemed  to  have  conquered. 
Never  once  taking  his  gaze  from  where  the  knife 
stood  he  backed  slowly  toward  the  bed.  "Ah !  I 
got  him  that  time!  See  him!  see  him!"  Then 
followed  a  blood-chilling  burst  of  profanity  at 
the  wriggling  object  of  his  delirium.  "But  he 
can't  get  up!  No!  no!  no!  it's  through  (his 
neck." 


166  MASTERED  MEN 

And  so  the  long  night  wore  on,  and  the  wearied 
preacher,  looking  upon  what  drink  could  do  with 
"God's  Masterpiece,"  vowed  anew  to  fight  the 
cursed  traffic  in  intoxicants  as  long  as  life  lasted, 
and  never  knowingly  to  have  his  home  denied  by 
such  a  life-blasting  beverage. 

It  was  nearly  seven  o'clock  on  Sabbath  morn- 
ing when  John  Gage  fell  asleep.    At  ten  o'clock 
the  bell  of  the  adjoining  church  awakened  him. 
The  minister  had  anticipated  the  awakening,  and 
was  at  the  bedside.     John  seemed  dazed  for  a 
time,  but  in  a  little  while  conversed  with  the 
one  who  had  befriended  him.     He  was  urged  to 
remain  quietly  in  bed,  and  after  a  few  words  the 
minister  clasped  the  hand  of  the  outcast  man, 
and  kneeling  at  the  bedside,  laid  the  burden  of 
his  heart  upon  the  One  who  is  mighty  to  save. 
As  the  Amen  was  uttered  Ruth  approached  the 
door.     "All  right,  little  one,  come  and  see  your 
friend  John,"  were  her  father's  words.     Ruth 
was  ready  for  church,  and  with  garments  and  face 
alike  attractive,  laid  her  little  hand  in  the  big 
hand  of  the  sin-wrecked  man.     Who  can  under- 
stand   the    power    of    the    touch    of    a    child's 
hand?    Closing  his  fingers  over  the  dainty,  wee 
hand,  John  Gage  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and 
sobbed  aloud.    Little  Ruth  hardly  knew  what  to 
do.     Gently  she  placed  the  other  hand  on  the 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  167 

dirty,  unshaven  cheek,  and  merely  said  sympa- 
thetically, "Don't  cry." 

John  turned  his  head  back  again  long  enough 
to  say  brokenly,  "God  bless  you,  little  gal." 

Leading  Ruth  out  of  the  room,  the  minister 
gathered  up  his  books  and  went  to  the  morning 
service.  When  he  returned  John  Gage  had  de- 
parted. •  Early  Monday  morning  Allan  Short,  a 
near-by  farmer,  called  to  tell  him  that  John  was 
out  at  his  place  cutting  away  at  the  winter's 
wood-pile.  Allan  promised  to  do  what  he  could 
for  John,  but  incidentally  remarked  that  he  did 
not  see  why  a  man  couldn't  "take  a  glass  of  beer 
without  making  a  fool  of  himself." 

A  day  or  two  later  the  minister  drove  by  the 
Short  homestead,  presumably  to  make  a  call  at 
the  Meen's  farm,  where  he  had  several  faithful 
church-goers.  As  he  passed,  he  recognized  John 
at  the  saw-horse,  and  waved  a  greeting  as  to  a 
friend. 

On  his  return  he  drove  up  the  road  to  the 
Short  Farm,  and  John  at  once  came  forward, 
with  the  customary  Canadian  courtesy,  to  tie  up 
or  unhitch  the  horse,  according  to  the  visitor's 
wish.  After  a  few  pleasantries  the  minister  went 
to  the  house  and  made  a  call  on  such  members  of 
the  Short  family  as  were  home,  and  then  returned 
to  where  his  horse  was  tied.  Hesitating  a  mo- 
ment, he  turned  and  walked  to  the  wood-pile, 


168  MASTERED  MEN 

and  after  complimenting  John  on  his  ability  to 
swing  the  axe,  spoke  a  few  encouraging  words. 
For  a  moment  the  hand  rested  on  John's  shoulder 
as  he  said,  "You  will  be  one  of  God's  good  men 
yet,  John.  I  know  it's  a  terrible  fight,  but  God 
knows  all  about  it,  and  with  Him  you  can  con- 
quer. Come  and  see  us  any  time  you  are  in,  but 
for  the  life  of  you  don't  loiter  around  the  village, 
and  do  keep  clear  of  the  men  who  would  be 
likely  to  make  it  easy  for  you  to  get  what  you 
know  is  ruinous  to  you.  And  don't  forget  we 
are  your  friends  always,  always." 

As  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  side  road,  he 
met  Allan  Short  returning  from  a  trip  to  the 
village.  Referring  to  John  Gage  the  farmer  said, 
"He's  been  as  straight  as  a  British  Columbia  pine 
since  he  came  out;  but,  say!  it's  kind  o'  pitiful, 
after  all,  the  way  he  craves  for  whiskey.  Me 
and  the  Missus  watched  him  yesterday.  She's 
been  keeping  her  eyes  open.  Well,  John  was 
taking  a  breathing  spell,  after  he  had  done  a  fine 
lot  of  splitting  (and  he's  no  greenhorn  with  the 
axe,  let  me  tell  you!),  when  all  of  a  sudden  he 
went  to  the  fence-post  where  his  coat  was  hang- 
ing, and  putting  it  on  as  he  walked,  he  made 
down  the  road.  He  got  about  ten  rod  and  then 
stopped  like  as  if  he'd  forgotten  something,  and 
then  he  started  back,  took  off  his  coat,  and  pitched 
into  that  wood-pile  as  if  it  was  sure  death  if  he 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL         169 

didn't  get  it  finished  by  night.  The  missus  says 
he's  done  the  same  thing  three  times  to  her  knowl- 
edge, and  once  he  went  so  far  she  was  sure  he  was 
gone  for  good.  But  she  says  he  sure  did  lam- 
baste' them  blocks  when  he  got  back." 

The  following  Sunday  morning  little  Ruth 
was  missing  from  the  Manse  pew,  and  her  absence 
from  that  service  was  so  unusual  as  to  cause  many 
inquiries. 

"Nothing  serious,"  said  the  mother.  "Just  a 
little  throat  trouble,  and  as  she  seemed  somewhat 
feverish  we  thought  we  had  better  leave  her  at 
home.    Lizzie  is  taking  care  of  her." 

But  on  Monday  morning  the  doctor  looked 
very  anxious  after  an  examination  of  Ruth's 
throat,  and  in  departing  advised  the  minister  to 
keep  out  of  the  child's  room  until  an  examination 
a  few  hours  later. 

On  Tuesday  morning  it  was  a  bit  of  village 
news  that  was  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  that 
the  minister's  little  girl  had  diphtheria,  and  that 
the  house  was  placarded.  The  occupants  of  the 
Manse  were  deeply  touched  during  the  following 
days  by  that  spontaneous  expression  of  practical 
sympathy  that  is  characteristic  of  village  life. 
But  perhaps  no  one  stirred  the  deepest  emotions 
as  did  John  Gage.  Darkness  had  fallen  over  the 
village  on  Tuesday  before  he  had  heard  of  Ruth's 
sickness.     There  was  some  look  of  solicitation 


170  MASTERED  MEN 

on  Mrs.  Short's  face  when  John  "guessed"  he 
would  stroll  to  the  village. 

He  answered  the  look  by  saying  almost  curtly, 
"I'm  going  to  the  Manse." 

The  little  patient's  symptoms  showed  severe 
infection,  and  a  second  doctor  was  in  consultation 
when  the  minister  heard  a  very  gentle  rap  on  the 
door. 

"Sorry  I  can't  ask  you  in,  John,"  he  said,  as 
he  saw  John  standing  on  the  verandah. 

"How  is  she*?"  asked  the  caller,  in  a  tone  that 
revealed  a  great  concern. 

"She  is  a  very  sick  little  girl,  John.  Dr.  Dodd 
is  with  Dr.  Burnett  just  now.  We  can  only  give 
her  the  best  care  possible,  and  hope  and  pray. 
It  is  good  of  you  to  call,  and  when  the  wee  girl 
is  better  she  will  be  pleased  to  know  you  came. 
The  poor  little  soul  has  been  restless  and  feverish 
all  the  afternoon." 

"Poor  little  gal!  Tell  her  John  hopes  she'll 
soon  be  all  right.  I  ain't  much  of  a  friend,  God 
knows,  but  all  the  same  I've  been  that  lonesome 
like,  since  I  heard  she  was  sick,  I  don't  feel  as  if 
I  want  to  do  anything,  but  just  wait  around.  If 
there's  any  job  I  can  do  to  help,  I  give  you  my 
word  I'll  be  in  trim  to  do  it  as  long  as  the  little 
gal  needs  me." 

For  two  weeks  John's  "little  gal"  caused  anx- 
ious days  and  nights — some  of  them  days  and 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  171 

nights  when  tearful  prayers  were  sobbed  out  in 
the  solitariness  of  study  or  bedroom — times  when 
the  physicians  found  no  hopeful  signs,  and  the 
little  life  seemed  to  be  passing  beyond  human 
reach.  It  was  on  one  such  night  that  John 
brought  a  few  delicacies  from  the  farm  for  the 
minister's  household,  and  waited  for  the  report 
from  the  sick-room. 

"The  doctor  has  been  with  her  an  hour,  John, 
and  the  wee  girl  is  alive,  and  that's  all  we  can 
say."  The  voice  broke  into  a  sob  as  the  last 
words  were  spoken. 

The  two  men  stood  in  silent  sympathy  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  then  John  broke  the  silence. 
"She  was  friendly  to  me,  sir,  and  I'll  never  forget 
it.  Lots  of  folks  what  thinks  they're  big  toads 
in  the  puddle  treats  me  as  if  I  was  dirt,  but  the 
little  gal  is  the  biggest  Christian  of  the  lot,  and 
she's  done  me  more  good  than  the  whole  gang 
of  'em.  Say!  the  way  she  put  her  little  hand 
on  my  face  that  Sunday  morning  was  better'n 
any  sermon  I  ever  heard.  Queer,  ain't  it,  but  it 
broke  me  all  up."  Then  in  response  to  a  request 
from  the  minister  John  continued,  "I'm  afeared 
it  wouldn't  count  much  if  I  tried  to  pray,  sir; 
but  there  ain't  anything  I  wouldn't  try  my  hand 
at  for  her." 

The  following  day  there  was  better  news,  and 
two  days  later  the  little  sufferer  was  able  to  smile 


172  MASTERED  MEN 

in  response  to  the  tokens  of  love  that  were  show- 
ered upon  her. 

The  physicians'  faces  relaxed,  and  they  were 
delighted  that  professionally  they  were  winning 
the  battle,  and  the  big-hearted  senior  physician 
rejoiced  for  other  reasons.  "By  the  way,"  he 
said  that  night  in  the  Manse  study,  "I  have  met 
that  fellow  John  Gage  several  times  lately,  and 
his  interest  in  Ruthie  is  really  remarkable.  I 
didn't  think  it  was  in  the  man  to  care  for  any- 
body. And  stranger  still,  he  was  sober  each  time. 
The  little  girl  may  yet  be  the  salvation  of  the 
poor  chap,  and  do  what  no  one  else  has  been  able 
to  do." 

Shortly  before  St.  Valentine's  Day  the  Manse 
was  thoroughly  fumigated,  and  the  placard  re- 
moved. Ruth  was  amusing  herself  cutting  out 
the  kindergarten  suggestions  for  Valentines,  and 
sending  them  to  selected  friends.  On  a  crudely 
shaped  heart  in  poorly  fashioned  letters  that  she 
had  learned  to  print,  were  the  words,  "Ruth  loves 
John."  On  February  the  14th,  John  Gage  received 
the  tiny  envelope  containing  his  Valentine. 
Nothing  he  had  received  in  years  pleased  him 
quite  so  much. 

"Now,  ain't  that  great,"  he  confided  to  Mrs. 
Short,  "  'taint  worth  a  cent,  I  suppose,  but  just 
this  very  minute  they're  ain't  enough  money  in 
the  whole  village  to  buy  it." 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  173 

The  quarterly  communion  service  was  about 
to  be  conducted  in  St.  Andrew's  Church.  The 
usual  invitations  had  been  given  from  the  pulpit, 
and  a  few  had  called  at  the  Manse  to  discuss  the 
question  of  membership.  It  was  always  a  time 
of  prayerful  concern  on  the  part  of  the  minister 
lest  any  should  take  the  step  without  realizing 
its  obligations  and  privileges.  At  the  minister's 
invitation,  John  Gage  had  spent  over  an  hour  in 
the  study. 

"Nothing  less  than  an  out  and  out  surrender 
will  do,  John.  You  have  had  your  way,  and  the 
devil  has  had  his  way,  now  you  must  be  willing 
to  let  God  have  full  control.  There  must  be  an 
entire  breaking  away  from  past  associations,  and 
you  must  take  the  step  that  can  never  mean  re- 
treat. Unless  you  do  that  the  path  back  to  the 
old  ways  will  be  too  attractive,  and  too  easy." 

Once  again  the  two  men  read  passages  from 
well-thumbed  pages  in  the  study  Bible,  and  again 
the  shepherd  of  souls  called  on  the  One  Who  is 
Mighty  to  Save,  and  then  John  prayed,  and  as 
the  long  silence  was  broken  and  a  wanderer  in  a 
far  country  turned  his  face  to  his  Father  and 
uttered  penitent  words,  the  minister's  tears  of 
joy  could  no  longer  be  restrained.  As  they  rose 
from  their  knees,  hands  were  clasped,  and  those 
feelings,  too  deep  for  words,  found  expression 
in  the  pressure  of  a  protecting  and  trusting  hand. 


174  MASTERED  MEN 

In  the  eyes  of  the  majority  of  the  Kirk  Session, 
there  was  little  risk  in  receiving  into  membership 
the  well-to-do  respectable  sinner,  but  when  the 
minister  narrated  the  conversations  he  had  had 
with  John  Gage,  and  suggested  his  name  as  a 
candidate  for  membership,  eyebrows  were  raised 
and  heads  shook  ominously. 

"Wad  it  no'  be  better  to  put  him  off  for  a  few 
months  to  see  whether  he  could  stan'  alone  first1?" 
was  the  question  of  John  McNair,  the  senior 
elder. 

Colonel  Monteith,  who  was  greatly  burdened 
with  the  responsibility  for  maintaining  the 
dignity  of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  wondered 
whether  "this  rather  disreputable  man  Gage 
would  not  find  more  congenial  associates  down  in 
the  Free  Methodist  Hall."  Tom  Rollins  didn't 
know  "how  the  p'eople  would  take  it." 

Murray  Meiklejohn,  characterized  by  his  reti- 
cence and  good  common  sense,  moved  that  "John 
Gage  be  received,"  and  stammeringly  added  that 
so  far  as  leaving  John  to  stand  alone  was  con- 
cerned, he  "guessed"  they  had  been  doing  that 
ever  since  he  came  to  town,  ten  years  ago. 

And  so  with  some  misgivings,  and  with  some 
wounded  pride,  the  Session  included  John  Gage 
in  its  reception  list. 

On  Friday  night,  an  hour  before  the  time  for 
preparatory  service,  John  called  at  the  Manse. 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  175 

"I'm  a-trembling  all  through,"  he  said  to  the 
minister,  "and  I  was  half-minded  not  to  come. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  what  you  said  about  the 
hospital  being  a  place  for  sick  folks,  I  wouldn't 
had  the  courage  to  face  it." 

The  preparatory  service  of  that  night  is  still 
spoken  of  in  the  quiet  village.  Perhaps  the  at- 
mosphere was  created  by  one  who  had  prayed 
much  that  day  that  the  congregation  might  re- 
ceive a  new  vision  of  the  Redeemer,  through  the 
words  of  one  for  whom  not  an  individual  in  the 
entire  congregation  had  any  hope  six  weeks  be- 
fore. 

The  sermon  over,  the  minister  and  elders  ex- 
tended the  right  hand  of  fellowship  to  the  little 
company  occupying  the  front  seats.  "To-night," 
said  the  minister,  as  he  returned  to  the  platform, 
"I  have  asked  my  friend  Mr.  John  Gage  to  say 
a  few  words."  The  lecture-hall  had  probably 
never  known  stiller  moments  than  those  imme- 
diately following  the  announcement. 

John  Gage,  pale  and  trembling,  not  daring  to 
look  at  his  audience,  stood  facing  the  platform. 
In  a  low  voice  he  said,  "Well,  friends,  I  have 
been  a  bad  man — that's  no  news  to  anybody,  but 
God  helping  me  I'm  going  to  be  better.  Seems 
like  a  miracle,  don't  it,  that  John  Gage  has  been 
sober  for  five  weeks?" 

As  he  sat  down,  the  "Let  us  pray"  of  the  min- 


176  MASTERED  MEN 

ister  preceded  a  petition  for  "our  brother,"  that 
made  most  hearts  tender  and  prayerful. 

"It's  a  new  day  for  St.  Andrew's,"  said  Murray 
Meiklejohn,  as  he  shook  the  hand  of  the  minister 
after  the  benediction.  "Nothing  like  to-night's 
meeting  in  my  memory.  Looks  as  if  we  were 
going  to  stop  singing  'Rescue  the  Perishing'  and 
get  on  the  job." 

It  is  no  easy  task  for  the  average  Presbyterian 
elder  to  utter  a  fervent  "God  bless  you,"  but  that 
night  hearts  were  stirred  and  tongues  were  loos- 
ened, and  John  Gage  felt  that  after  all  the  world 
was  not  so  unfriendly  as  he  had  imagined.  Hand 
after  hand  was  extended  in  genuine  welcome. 
But  the  finest  thing  of  all,  as  the  minister  said 
a  little  later,  was  the  way  the  Colonel  warmed 
up  to  John.  He  had  never  been  seen  to  manifest 
the  same  cordiality  in  the  Church  before.  "A 
manly  step  to  take,  sir — a  manly  step — needs 
courage  to  fight  that  kind  of  a  battle.  Personally 
I  am  glad  to  welcome  you  to  St.  Andrew's." 

When  story-time  came  at  the  Manse  on  the 
following  evening,  Ruth  was  all  attention  as  her 
mother  told  of  the  home-coming  of  another  prodi- 
gal, and  of  all  it  might  mean. 

Ruth's  prayer  had  two  additional  words  that 
night.  The  closing  part  was  uttered  more  de- 
liberately than  usual,  as  if  in  anticipation  of  the 
seriousness  of  the  added  petition.     "Bless  daddy 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  177 

and    mamma,    and — all — the — friends — I — love 
— and  Jokn,  for  Jesus'  sake.    Amen." 

John  Gage  secured  temporary  work  in  the 
village  delivering  freight  for  a  local  carter. 
Whenever  opportunity  afforded,  the  habitues  of 
the  bar-rooms  did  not  spare  him  their  sneers  and 
jeers.  "Folks  say  you're  a  hell  of  a  good  preacher, 
John."  "When  are  you  going  to  wear  the 
starched  dog-collar,  John?"  Calling  him  to  a 
little  group  on  the  sidewalk,  one  of  his  former 
chums  said,  with  mock  solemnity,  "Let  us  pray." 
A  roar  of  laughter  followed,  as  John,  crimson- 
faced,  walked  away. 

There  were  days  when  the  sting  in  some  of  the 
taunts  was  hard  to  bear — days  when  only  One 
knows  the  conflict  in  that  will  that  had  become 
enfeebled  by  sin.  But  John  Gage  was  steadily 
gaining  the  victory,  and  the  visits  to  the  Manse 
and  the  new  friends  around  the  church  were  dis- 
placing the  former  associations. 

Signs  of  a  material  prosperity  that  John  had 
never  before  known  were  gradually  appearing. 
The  village  tailor  took  particular  pride  one  morn- 
ing in  showing  the  minister  a  piece  of  blue  serge, 
"as  fine  a  bit  of  goods  as  is  imported.  I'm  cutting 
a  suit  out  of  it  for  John  Gage,  and  it  will  be  as 
good  as  I  can  make  it.  Did  you  ever  think  how 
much  the  tailor  can  co-operate  with  God  in  fixing 
a  man  up?" 


178  MASTERED  MEN 

But  not  all  the  villagers  were  desirous  of  co- 
operating with  God  in  the  reformation  of  John 
Gage.  A  little  crowd  had  gathered  one  night  in 
McKee's  barber  shop,  and  the  minister  of  St. 
Andrew's  was  being  harshly  criticized  for  his 
frequent  attacks  on  the  liquor  traffic.  The  pro- 
prietor of  the  poolroom,  who  attended  St.  An- 
drew's at  the  time  of  the  Lodge  annual  parade, 
announced  his  intention  of  absenting  himself 
unless  the  minister  "minded  his  own  business." 
Others  made  similar  threats,  which  in  the  aggre- 
gate might  bring  the  minister  to  the  proper  frame 
of  mind  which  became  one  who  "received  his 
bread  and  butter  from  some  of  the  very  people 
he  had  been  abusing." 

Then  the  case  of  John  Gage  was  discussed, 
and  uncomplimentary  terms  were  freely  applied. 

McKee  thought  "it  would  be  a  d d  good  joke 

on  the  Presbyterian  preacher  if  John  could  be 
made  as  full  as  a  goat,  and  then  sent  to  the 
Manse."  To  the  lasting  disgrace  of  the  barber, 
he  attempted  to  perpetrate  the  "joke." 

Bud  Jenks  was  a  willing  tool  of  anybody  who 
would  reward  him  with  a  whiskey,  and  when 
McKee  offered  him  all  he  could  take  at  one 
standing  if  he  got  Gage  to  take  a  drink,  he  was 
ready  at  least  to  make  the  attempt.  And  so  on 
a  day  when  John  had  shovelled  coal  from  car 
to  waggon  and  waggon  to  cellar  for  eight  hours, 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  179 

and  was  warm,  tired  and  thirsty,  Bud  appeared 
with  a  little  pail,  as  if  coming  from  the  town 
pump.  John  was  at  the  grating  tramping  the 
coal  further  into  the  cellar,  and  his  head  was 
about  on  a  level  with  the  sidewalk.  "Good-day, 
Bud,"  he  called  up  as  Bud  stood  for  a  moment. 

"Good-day,  John;  warm  job,  eh<?" 

"You  bet  it's  warm,"  was  the  reply,  as  the 
coal-begrimed  brow  was  wiped. 

"Take  a  drink  o'  water*?"  asked  Bud. 

"Sure  I  will,  and  thank  you,"  answered  the 
thirsty  toiler  with  hand  extended  to  the  pail, 
which  was  placed  on  the  sidewalk.  Quickly  Bud 
removed  the  lid,  and  gave  the  pail  a  tilt  as  the 
rim  came  near  John's  face.  Just  a  touch  of  froth 
from  the  lager  beer  was  carried  to  John's  lips,  but 
instantly  he  pushed  back  the  pail  with  an  ex- 
clamation almost  of  pain.  At  the  same  moment 
he  slid  further  into  the  cellar,  and  kneeling  on 
the  coal,  with  hands  clasped  against  the  wall, 
cried  out  again  and  again,  "Oh,  my  God,  help 
me,  help  me,  help  me!" 

Bud  peered  into  the  darkness  and  called  sev- 
eral times  to  John.  At  last  John  approached  the 
grating  again.  "Bud,"  he  said  quietly,  "for 
God's  sake  go  away  and  leave  me  alone;  I'd 
rather  drop  dead  than  put  another  drop  of  that 
to  my  lips." 

Bud  did  not  immediately  depart,  despite  the 


180  MASTERED  MEN 

pleading  of  the  man  in  the  cellar,  and  not  until 
a  passer-by  had  entered  into  conversation  with 
him,  and  the  two  had  moved  off  together,  did 
John  pull  himself  to  the  sidewalk  and  drive 
away.  "Oh,  the  smell  of  it  near  drove  me  mad 
for  a  few  minutes,"  he  said,  as  he  confided  the 
occurrence  to  his  friends  at  the  Manse.  "If  it 
wasn't  for  the  little  gal,  and  coming  up  here,  I'd 
get  far  enough  away  from  this  place,  so's  I 
wouldn't  have  the  same  temptations." 

"Temptation  is  not  a  matter  of  locality,  John, 
and  you  would  not  escape  it  by  crossing  a  con- 
tinent, and  besides,  we  need  you  right  here.  If 
you  win  out  and  give  God  the  glory,  you  will 
do  more  to  prove  His  power  than  a  year  of  ser- 
mons could." 

"Bully  for  Colonel  Monteith!  He's  a  brick, 
by  jinks  he  is!"  The  words  were  uttered  in  an 
excited  voice  by  the  young  minister  on  his  return 
from  one  of  his  daily  trips  to  the  Post  Office. 

"Why,  daddy,"  exclaimed  the  wife,  "I'll  re- 
port you  to  the  Session  for  using  bad  language. 
But  what  has  happened  anyway?" 

It  was  several  minutes  before  the  cause  of  the 
"bad  language"  could  be  satisfactorily  narrated. 
The  conversation  in  McKee's  barber  shop  was 
related,  and  the  indignation  of  the  mistress  of 
the  Manse  was  all  that  could  be  desired. 

"Well,"   continued  the  minister,    "somebody 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  181 

who  heard  it  happened  casually  to  tell  Colonel 
Monteith.  Within  half  an  hour,  the  Colonel 
was  in  the  shop.  McKee  was  lathering  Lawyer 
Taskey,  but  that  didn't  seem  an  important  matter 
to  the  Colonel,  for  without  waiting  until  he  was 
through  he  at  once  faced  him  with  what  he  had 
heard,  and  asked  if  it  was  true.  At  first  McKee 
tried  to  evade  the  question,  but  the  Colonel 
pressed  for  an  answer.    'Well,  suppose  I  did.    Is 

it  any  of  your business?'  replied  McKee. 

Then  with  a  sneer  he  added,   'And  anyhow,  I 
didn't  know  that  you  and  Mister  John  Gage  were 
such  bosom  friends.'     'Look  here,  McKee,'  and 
the  voice  of  the  Colonel  trembled  with  emotion, 
T  hold  no  brief  for  this  man  Gage  any  more  than 
I  do  for  any  other  man  in  the  village,  but  when 
a  fellow  puts  up  a  fight  like  he  has  for  the  last 
two  months — a  fellow,  as  you  know  very  well, 
with  veins  full  of  bad  blood — it  is  in  the  highest 
degree  reprehensible  for  any  man  to  be  even  a 
party  to  such  a  devilish  scheme  as  you  tried  to 
work  out  by  making  a  poor  sot  like  Bud  Jenks 
your   catspaw.      And   nobody,    sir — I    say,    sir, 
nobody  but  a  contemptible  cur  would  attempt 
such  a  dastardly  act.'     And  then  the  barber  got 
impudent  and  told  the  dignified  elder  to  go  on  a 
long  trip.     Moving  nearer  to  him  the  Colonel 
said,  'Before  I  go  there,  McKee,  there's  a  place 
I  wish  to  accompany  you,'  and  quick  as  a  flash 


182  MASTERED  MEN 

he  grabbed  McKee  and  tried  to  drag  him  to  the 
back  of  the  shop.  McKee  didn't  know  what  was 
going  to  happen,  and  naturally  objected  some, 
but  Jim  Morton,  who  saw  it,  says  the  Colonel 
was  'mad  from  the  toes  up,'  and  after  laming  a 
few  chairs,  and  damaging  a  mirror  in  the  scuffle, 
he  got  the  rear  door  open  and  pulled  McKee  after 
him  down  the  bank  to  the  creek.  The  barber 
likely  surmised  what  was  the  next  item  on  the 
programme,  and  not  caring  for  cold  baths  in 
March,  he  did  some  furious  scuffling,  but  though 
the  Colonel's  hat  and  a  few  buttons  had  disap- 
peared, he  was  able  to  report  progress.  Jim  says 
the  language  of  McKee  as  he  got  near  the  water 
has  never  been  surpassed  in  Elmsdale.  Lawyer 
Taskey  felt  like  going  to  McKee' s  rescue,  as  he 
doubtless  earnestly  desired  to  have  his  shave  fin- 
ished, but  when  he  got  his  hat  on  and  started 
down  the  bank  the  Colonel  thundered  something 
at  him  that  caused  him  to  decide  it  would  be 
pleasanter  to  remain  in  the  shop. 

"Unfortunately  the  Colonel  could  not  part 
company  with  McKee  at  the  critical  moment,  and 
the  two  of  them  fell  into  the  water  together. 
The  Colonel  stood  the  shock  well  enough  to  have 
sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  immediately  grab 
the  barber  and  duck  him  thoroughly,  and  then 
the  two  of  them  scrambled  out,  and  the  air  is  still 
blue  around  McKee's  place;  but  taking  a  con- 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  183 

junct  view  of  the  entire  affair,  the  Colonel  ap- 
peared satisfied. 

"Jim  says  that  the  Colonel's  language  was  not 
what  would  be  expected  from  an  elder,  and  that 
when  there  was  the  final  scuffle  at  the  edge  of  the 
creek,  he  heard  him  call  McKee  ca  blawsted 
skunk.'  I  suppose  that's  terrible  in  a  member  of 
St.  Andrew's  Session,  but  I'm  sinner  enough  to 
be  glad  that  McKee  got  a  small  percentage  of 
his  desserts,  and  my  backbone  feels  stiffer  and  I 
shall  carry  my  head  a  little  higher  because 
Colonel  Monteith's  on  my  Session." 

The  minister  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  swinging 
his  arm  in  a  circle  above  his  head  shouted,  "Bully 
for  Colonel  Monteith,  the  man  who  turned  Mc- 
Kee's  'joke'  into  a  boomerang." 

The  eyes  of  the  minister's  wife  had  sparkled 
with  interest  as  she  listened  to  what  had  hap- 
pened to  McKee,  and  the  minister  was  satisfied 
when  at  the  conclusion  of  the  incident  she  said 
quietly,  "I  am  so  sorry  Colonel  Monteith  fell  in 
the  creek.  Ask  him  up  for  dinner  to-morrow,  or 
some  day  soon.  I'll  do  my  very  best  to  show  my 
appreciation  of  his  well-meaning  defence  of  our 
John." 

Some  weeks  later  John  procured  a  position  in 
a  distant  city.  Ruth  and  her  father  went  to  the 
station  to  bid  him  farewell,  the  latter  assuring 
him  of  the  unfailing  interest  of  his  friends  at  the 


184  MASTERED  MEN 

Manse,  and  uttering  a  few  words  of  counsel,  now 
that  distance  would  prevent  the  frequent  visits 
of  the  past. 

For  a  while  all  went  well,  and  encouraging 
reports  reached  the  village  Manse.  Sometimes 
the  letter  was  addressed  to  the  Minister,  but 
oftener  to  Ruth,  and  all  of  them  revealed  the 
strong  hold  the  little  one  had  upon  the  reforming 
man. 

Then  came  word  of  dull  times  and  scarcity  of 
work  and  loneliness.  It  was  after  a  letter  that 
revealed  unusual  despondency,  that  an  urgent  in- 
vitation was  sent  for  John  to  return  to  the  village 
and  spend  a  few  weeks  at  the  Manse  until  labour 
conditions  improved. 

No  answer  came  to  this  invitation,  but  two 
weeks  later  a  letter  came  from  John's  boarding- 
house,  which  read  as  follows: — 

"Dear  Sir: — I  take  the  liberty  of  writing  you, 
because  there  is  a  Mr.  Gage  boarding  at  my  place, 
and  he  is  real  sick  and  don't  seem  to  have  no 
friends  near  here,  and  I  can't  take  care  of  him  no 
longer.  He  says  you  are  his  best  friend,  and  so  I 
thought  you  would  tell  me  what  to  do,  as  he  hasn't 
got  no  money,  and  I  am  a  hard-working  woman 
and  can't  afford  to  do  without  it.  He  ought  to  go 
to  the  Hospital,  I  guess,  but  he  don't  take  to  the 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  185 

notion.    Please  do  something  right  away. — Mrs. 
John  McCaul,  14,  St.  Lawrence  Lane." 

The  following  morning  the  minister  started 
for  the  city,  and  late  that  afternoon  stood  at  the 
door  of  No.  14,  St.  Lawrence  Lane.  The  lane 
consisted  of  a  long,  monotonous  row  of  dingy 
little  houses  on  the  one  side,  and  a  miscellaneous 
group  of  stables  and  sheds  on  the  other.  Factory 
buildings,  with  their  "insolent  towers  that  sprawl 
to  the  sky,"  overtowered  the  whole,  shutting  out 
much  light,  and  pouring  forth  from  their  im- 
mense chimneys  the  smoke  that  usually  hung  like 
a  pall  over  the  narrow  lane. 

Mrs.  McCaul  was  greatly  relieved  by  the  pres- 
ence of  the  minister,  and  as  they  sat  in  the 
ventilation-proof  parlour  she  told  him  of  John's 
hard  luck,  interspersing  most  of  her  family  his- 
tory into  the  narration.  "He's  terrible  discour- 
aged," she  added,  "and  the  doctor  says  he'd 
oughter  be  in  some  more  cheerfuller  place,  al- 
though I'm  doing  the  best  I  can." 

It  was  a  poorly  furnished  dark  bedroom  into 
which  the  minister  was  ushered,  and  the  sur- 
roundings of  the  whole  place  reminded  him  of 
a  popular  description  of  certain  American  city 
boarding-houses,  which  are  said  to  "furnish  all  the 
facilities  for  dying." 

John  clasped  the  extended  hand  with  grati- 


186  MASTERED  MEN 

tude,  and  the  visitor's  presence  did  much  that 
medicine  had  failed  to  do.  As  he  stood  talking 
to  the  sick  man,  his  eyes  rested  a  moment  on  a 
little  red  Valentine  that  had  been  inserted  be- 
tween the  glass  and  the  frame  of  the  tinselled 
mirror. 

"I  see  you're  looking  at  me  Valentine,"  said 
John. 

"Yes!  I  did  notice  it." 
"Well,  sir,  many  a  day  the  last  few  weeks  I've 
wondered  whether  I  could  hold  out.  When  a 
fellow  ain't  got  a  job,  and  money  and  friends 
is  scarce,  it  seems  like  it's  easier  for  the  devil  to 
get  th'  inside  track.  There  was  some  days  when 
it  seemed  as  if  all  the  devils  in  hell  was  after  me 
a-trying  to  get  me  back  to  the  old  life,  and  I  used 
to  come  up  here  and  look  at  me  Valentine.  I've 
stood  before  that  there  glass  a  good  many  times 
lately,  and  looked  at  the  red  heart  what  Ruthie 
cut  out,  and  said,  'God  help  me  to  be  faithful 
to  the  little  gal.'  " 

After  a  good  deal  of  persuasion  John  consented 
to  go  to  the  hospital,  so  that  he  might  receive 
proper  care. 

For  seven  weeks  the  disease,  which  was  a  part 
of  "the  wages  of  sin,"  held  sway.  Once  John 
thought  the  end  was  near,  and  that  probably,  ere 
many  days,  he  must  pass  away.  He  expressed 
his  fears  in  a  broken  voice  to  the  nurse,  and  then 


RUTH  AND  THE  PRODIGAL  187! 

asked  for  the  Valentine.  Tears  filled  his  eyes  as 
he  gazed  at  the  trifling  token  of  a  child's  love. 
With  an  effort  he  controlled  his  voice  and  said 
huskily:  "If  anything  happens,  nurse,  I  want 
to  have  that  Valentine  with  me.  You  know 
what  I  mean,  don't  you*?" 

The  nurse  nodded  her  head. 

"You  see,  nurse,  it  was  sent  me  by  a  little 
gal — the  minister's  little  gal.  I  was  pretty  far 
gone  a  year  ago,  and  if  ever  God  sent  an  angel 
into  this  world  to  help  lift  up  a  poor  wretch  of  a 
man,  it  was  when  that  little  gal  started  to  be  my 
friend.  And  when  them  little  hands  cut  out  the 
heart  for  my  Valentine  and  sent  it  to  me,  and  I 
read  'Ruth  loves  John,'  I  felt  as  good  as  if  I'd 
been  sent  a  fortune." 

The  news  of  John's  sickness  had  its  effect  on 
Ruth's  nightly  prayer :  "Please,  God,  make  John 
better,  because  he's  very  sick.  For  Jesus'  sake. 
Amen." 

John's  sickness  was  not  unto  death.  Slowly 
he  regained  health  and  courage,  and  as  soon  as 
he  was  able  to  work  he  secured  a  position  in  a  city 
factory.  Much  of  his  leisure  is  being  given  to 
City  Mission  Work. 

He  has  often  been  seen  on  a  street  corner  join- 
ing in  an  open-air  service.  Not  long  ago  he  was 
telling  a  crowd  of  men  what  the  Gospel  had  done 
for  him.     "Say,  fellows,  when  I  think  of  it — 


188  MASTERED  MEN 

think  of  what  I  was — I  just  know  He's  able  for 
anything.  I'm  ashamed  of  myself,  but  I'm  proud 
of  Him." 

As  he  finished  his  testimony  a  workman  in  the 
same  factory,  who  was  standing  at  the  rear  of 
the  crowd,  called  out,  "Yes,  and  John's  the  de- 
centest  feller  in  the  factory,  so  he  is." 

The  red  heart  has  faded  almost  to  a  brown. 
It  no  longer  occupies  its  place  on  the  mirror.  A 
stranger  picking  up  John  Gage's  Bible  might 
wonder  why  a  soiled  and  worn  bit  of  paper  in 
the  shape  of  a  heart  should  be  pasted  on  the  front 
inside  page;  but  often  a  tired  workman,  reading 
his  "verses"  for  the  night,  turns  first  of  all  to 
the  front  inside  page,  and  reads  three  words  that 
light  and  time  and  dirt  have  almost  effaced — 
"Ruth  loves  John." 

Sometimes  the  gaze  is  long,  and  sometimes  the 
fading  words  are  still  further  dimmed  by  tears, 
but  the  faded  Valentine  is  fragrant  with  precious 
memories  of  a  child's  love  that  resulted  in  the 
home-coming  of  the  prodigal. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    CORD    OF    X.OVE 

A  transcontinental  express  was  speeding 
across  the  prairies  to  its  Pacific  Coast  terminus. 
Two  hours  before  it  shrieked  its  approach  to  a 
foothill  city,  the  local  police  received  a  message 
which,  being  interpreted,  read:  "Detain  Lavina 
Berson,  travelling  on  No.  96;  age  about  fifteen, 
black  hair,  very  attractive.  Travelling  in  com- 
pany of  two  men  when  train  left  B ." 

When  No.  96  pulled  into  the  depot,  two  plain- 
clothes officers  boarded  the  train  and  soon  located 
the  girl  wanted.  At  first  the  flashing  black  eyes 
looked  defiantly  into  the  face  of  Staff-Inspector 
Kenney  as  he  requested  her  to  accompany  him. 
But  the  law  must  be  obeyed,  and  on  being  shown 
a  detective's  badge  the  little  runaway  passed  with 
her  escort  comparatively  unnoticed  into  the  city 
street. 

At  the  police-station  she  sat  in  the  anteroom 
with  the  matron,  while  the  inspector,  the  staff- 
inspector  and  the  plain-clothes  detective  discussed 
the  case.  The  girl's  youthfulness  and  attractive- 
ness appealed  to  their  sympathies. 

189 


190  MASTERED  MEN 

"It's  too  blamed  bad  to  send  a  pretty  youngster 
like  that  to  the  cells,"  said  one. 

"Why  not  send  her  to  that  new  Rescue  Home 
till  we  get  more  particulars?  They'll  take  care 
of  her.  There's  a  woman  there  that  knows  her 
job  all  right." 

And  so  to  the  Redemptive  Home  Lavina  was 
sent,  the  authorities  giving  the  usual  instructions 
governing  such  a  case.  For  a  few  hours  the  new- 
comer was  silent,  but  few  girls  could  long  be 
silent  in  the  presence  of  the  big-hearted,  winsome 
Superintendent  of  that  Home.  It  was  a  new 
experience  for  Lavina;  the  only  kindness  she  had 
known  was  the  traitorous  type,  and  it  was  hard 
for  her  to  believe  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as 
unselfish  love.  Forty-eight  hours  from  the  time 
she  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  Home,  the  hand 
that  was  almost  ready  to  strike  any  one  who 
seemed  to  have  co-operated  in  checking  her  reck- 
less career  was  slipped  along  the  forearm  of  the 
Superintendent. 

"Everybody  thinks  I'm  bad,  and  I  guess  I  am, 
but  I  believe  if  I  had  lived  with  you  I  might  have 
wanted  to  be  good." 

The  words  did  not  come  easily,  but  when  the 
Superintendent  stroked  the  black  hair  and  put 
an  arm  around  the  wanderer,  drawing  the  head 
to  her  shoulder,  she  realized  that  love  had  won 
its  first  battle  in  that  misguided  life. 


THE  CORD  OF  LOVE  191 

The  following  morning  a  young  man  rang  the 
door-bell  of  the  Home  in  an  impatient  manner. 
When  the  Superintendent  appeared  he  said,  "Is 
this  where  Lavina  Berson  is?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply. 

"Well,  I  want  her,  and  I  want  her  d d 

quick.     She's  a  d d  nuisance.     She's  never 

been  any  good.  Nobody  can  do  anything  with 
her."  Then,  drawing  a  rope  from  his  pocket,  he 
said,  "I'll  bind  the  little  devil  with  this,  and  if 
that  won't  do  I've  something  else  in  here  (putting 
his  hand  over  his  hip-pocket)  that  will  settle  her." 
His  face  was  red  with  passion,  and  his  eyes 
flashed  with  anger.  "Oh!  you  needn't  tell  me," 
he  continued.  "I  know  all  about  her;  I'm  her 
brother.    I'm  sick  of  getting  her  out  of  difficulties. 

I  say  she's  a  d d  nuisance,  and  I  ain't  going 

to  let  her  forget  this  trip  I've  had  to  take,  not 
on  your  bottom  dollar  I  ain't.  I've  got  something 
else  to  do  than  to  be  chasing  over  the  country 
after  her." 

"You  cannot  get  possession  of  your  sister  to- 
day," answered  the  Superintendent.  "Even  if 
I  were  not  under  obligation  to  the  authorities  to 
detain  her,  pending  their  instructions,  I  could  not 
let  her  go  with  you  just  now.  She  is  a  friend  of 
mine,  and  I  love  her.  She  has  told  me  her  story; 
she  is  only  just  sixteen.  Ropes  and  pistols  and 
policemen  are  not  the  remedy,  sir;  she  needs  a 


192  MASTERED  MEN 

brother — a  real  brother.  If  you  call  in  the  morn- 
ing I  shall  be  glad  to  have  a  quiet  talk  with  you." 

Ten  days  later,  in  her  own  town,  the  court- 
room was  crowded  when  the  case  of  Lavina 
Berson  was  called.  The  trial  resulted  in  a  mass 
of  evidence  to  show  that  she  was  bad.  There 
seemed  no  other  course  open  to  the  Judge  but  to 
send  her  to  a  reformatory.  She  had  associated 
with  the  fastest  boys  and  girls,  and  with  the  most 
lawless  men  and  women  her  town  had  known. 
The  policeman,  giving  evidence,  made  it  clear 
that  the  town  would  be  well  rid  of  her.  Not  one 
witness,  even  to  the  girl's  mother,  had  any  hopeful 
word  to  speak. 

In  the  face  of  such  evidence  there  seemed  only 
one  course  open.  When  the  word  "reformatory" 
reached  the  girl's  ear  she  broke  into  a  passion  of 
weeping,  so  that  the  Judge  hesitated  a  moment. 
Then  there  was  some  movement  and  whispering 
near  the  witness-box.  The  Superintendent  men- 
tioned had  journeyed  Eastward  to  be  present  at 
the  trial,  and  she  was  now  conferring  with  the 
Morality  Inspector. 

The  weeping  girl  looked  appealingly  through 
her  tears  at  the  one  who  had  befriended  her. 
"Oh,  please,"  she  whispered,  in  a  voice  broken 
with  sobs,  "don't  let  them  send  me  to  that  awful 
place.     It'll  only  make  me  worse;  take  me  with 


THE  CORD  OF  LOVE  193 

you.     I'll  do  anything  you  tell  me;  please,  oh! 
please,  Miss  Moffatt." 

Turning  to  the  Judge  the  Superintendent  said, 
"Your  Honour,  I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  but  as 
a  representative  of  the  Women's  council  of  the 

■ Church  in  Canada  may  I  say  a  few  words?" 

The  Judge  nodded  assent,  and  with  a  heart  full 
of  love  for  the  wayward,  Miss  Moffatt  made  one 
of  the  most  impassioned  appeals  conceivable.  In 
closing,  she  said,  "I  ask  your  Honour  to  give  this 
girl  into  my  charge  for  one  year.  In  view  of  the 
evidence  given,  may  I  be  allowed  to  say  that  she 
has  been  brutally  sinned  against.  No  man  who 
has  spoken  has  referred  to  her  partners  in  sin,  nor 
has  any  man  suggested  that  the  stronger  sex  has 
any  responsibility  to  be  a  brother  and  protector 
of  girls.  The  evidence  reveals  the  fact  that 
plenty  of  men  co-operated  in  her  downfall;  ap- 
parently not  one  made  any  effort  to  uplift.  Some 
of  her  betrayers  are  still  counted  as  respectable 
men,  while  she  receives  all  the  blame  and  the 
shame.  One  remedy  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
tried,  and  in  the  name  of  the  One  who  long  ago 
said,  'Neither  do  I  condemn  thee;  go,  and  sin 
no  more,'  I  ask  you  to  be  gracious  enough  to  allow 
me  to  try  a  corrective  which  I  believe  will  be 
more  effective  than  what  has  been  suggested." 

The  Judge  caught  the  light  in  those  eyes,  and 
with  manifest  emotion  addressed  the  accused: 


194  MASTERED  MEN 

"Lavina,  you  have  found  a  friend;  so  long  as 
you  are  true  to  her  you  will  not  again  be  called 
to  appear  before  this  Court.  May  Heaven's 
blessing  rest  upon  such  women  as  the  one  who 
has  spoken  in  your  behalf!  The  case  is  dis- 
missed." 

Once  again  Lavina  journeyed  Westward. 
Once  again  she  was  on  No.  96,  but  no  longer  with 
betrayers.  By  her  side  was  the  Superintendent 
with  her  sweet,  sheltering  influence. 

And  so  life  began  again  for  Lavina  in  the 
Redemptive  Home.  In  view  of  her  past  life,  it 
was  worth  crossing  a  continent  to  see  the  gladness 
in  her  eyes  when  one  day  Miss  Moffatt  put  her 
hand  upon  her  shoulder  and  said  playfully, 
"Lavina  is  my  right-hand  girl;  I  think  she'll  soon 
be  Assistant  Superintendent." 

As  one  of  the  workers  was  passing  along  the 
hallway  upstairs  some  months  later  she  was  ar- 
rested by  the  sound  of  a  pleading  voice — some 
one  was  offering  a  prayer.  Noiselessly  she  drew 
near  the  room  from  which  the  voice  came.  The 
last  petition  was  being  uttered,  "O  God,  please 
help  the  other  girls  to  be  good  like  You  helped 
me,  for  Jesus'  sake.  Amen."  The  little  dark- 
eyed  girl  was  kneeling  by  the  bedside  with  her 
arm  around  the  shoulder  of  a  young  Hungarian 
maiden  who  had  been  rescued  from  a  life  of 
shame.    It  developed  later  that  these  two  rescued 


THE  CORD  OF  LOVE  195 

ones  were  daily  praying  for  others  who  were  being 
sheltered  in  the  Home. 

How  it  all  reminds  one  of  that  far-away  scene ! 
"No  man  could  bind  him;  no,  not  with  chains; 
because  that  he  had  been  often  bound  with  fetters 
and  chains,  and  the  chains  had  been  plucked 
asunder  by  him,  and  the  fetters  broken  in  pieces : 
neither  could  any  man  tame  him.  .  .  .  Jesus 
said  unto  him,  Come  out  of  the  man,  thou  unclean 
spirit."  And  the  modern  evil  spirit  and  its  re- 
buke is  like  unto  that.  "Nobody  can  do  anything 
with  her;  I've  got  this  rope  to  bind  the  little  devil 
with."  And  then  this :  "O  God,  please  help  the 
other  girls  to  be  good  like  You  helped  me,  for 
Jesus'  sake.  Amen."  On  the  heels  of  the  failure 
of  all  others  Jesus  comes  and  reveals  Himself 
to-day  as  of  old,  as  the  master  of  demons. 

What  the  future  days  hold  for  Lavina  Berson 
we  know  not,  but  the  height  of  her  ambition  to- 
day is  that  she  be  accepted  for  training,  so  that 
some  day  she  may  work  among  those  of  the  class 
to  which  she  once  belonged. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

nell's  home-going 

St.  Andrew's  Church  was  losing  its  respect- 
ability. It  was  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  Province, 
and  the  town  in  which  it  was  situated  had  for  some 
years  prided  itself  in  being  a  "Society"  town. 
The  select  few  who  had  for  so  long  been  undis- 
turbed by  the  "common"  people  were  having  to 
endure  the  presence,  in  near-by  pews,  of  some 
who  had  no  entrance  into  the  best  social  circles — 
and  the  shocking  part  of  it  was  that  the  new 
minister,  who  was  reported  to  have  come  from 
one  of  the  best  families  in  Montreal,  rather 
gloried  in  this  condition  of  affairs. 

Two  families  had  already  withdrawn  from 
the  membership  of  St.  Andrews — two  of  the 
wealthiest  and  gayest — and  that  within  six 
months  of  the  minister's  induction.  The  with- 
drawal of  the  Farsees  and  Shunums  happened  in 
this  wise.  A  few  Sabbath  evenings  previous  to 
the  "interview"  that  Mrs.  Farsee  had  had  with 
the  minister,  a  young  woman  of  unsavory  reputa- 
tion had  dared  to  enter  St.  Andrew's.  Perhaps 
the  minister  was  not  aware  of  what  he  did,  but 

196 


NELL'S  HOME-GOING  197 

there  was  no  denying  the  fact  that  he  shook  hands 
with  the  said  young  woman,  and  hoped  she  would 
"always  feel  welcome  at  St.  Andrew's."  After 
seeing,  with  her  own  eyes,  a  second  and  a  third 
visit,  and  a  second  and  a  third  welcome,  Mrs. 
Farsee,  with  the  moral  backing  of  Mrs.  Shunum, 
had  her  now  much-talked-of  interview  with  the 
Rev.  Thomas  Fearnon. 

"Mr.  Fearnon,"  she  commenced  in  an  agitated 
tone,  "there  is  a  matter  that  so  greatly  affects  our 
church,  that  although  it  is  rather  a  delicate  sub- 
ject, I  felt  I  must  be  frank  enough  to  speak  with 
you  about  it.  Do  you  know — but  of  course  you 
don't  know — the  character  of  the  young  woman 
who  has  been  sitting  in  Mrs.  Greatheart's  seat 
for  the  past  three  Sunday  evenings,  and  to  whom 
you  have  given  three  distinct  welcomes  to  St. 
Andrew's?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "I  think  I  know  some- 
thing of  her  character  and  past,  and  it  is  very 
sad." 

"But,  Mr.  Fearnon,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Farsee, 
"you  surely  cannot  sanction  her  attendance  at 
our  church!     What  will  people  say1?" 

"Mrs.  Farsee,"  was  the  quiet  rejoinder,  "I 
wonder  what  my  Master  would  say  if  I  did  not 
sanction  the  presence  of  any  for  whom  He  died. 
For  whom  are  our  services,  if  not  for  the  sinful*?" 

"Yes,  but,  Mr.  Fearnon,  that  kind  of  person 


198  MASTERED  MEN 

should  go  to  some  other  place — for  instance, 
there's  the  Salvation  Army." 

'Thank  God  there  is  the  Salvation  Army,  but 
so  long  as  Thomas  Fearnon  is  pastor  of  this 
church,  yonder  doors  shall  never  be  too  narrow 
to  admit  the  sin-burdened."  Thomas  Fearnon's 
voice  thrilled  with  emotion  as  he  uttered  these 
words. 

"Well,  I  suppose  it's  no  use  saying  anything 
more,"  said  Mrs.  Farsee  with  an  injured  air,  "but 
it's  hard  to  hear  people  sneer  at  one's  church,  and 
twice  lately  I've  heard  people — and  prominent 
society  people  too — say  that  our  church  was  get- 
ting to  be  a  'House  of  Refuge,'  and  I  tell  you 
that  kind  of  thing  goes  hard  with  people  who 
have  taken  the  pride  we  have  in  St.  Andrew's 
Church." 

"To  me,"  said  Mr.  Fearnon,  "that  report  is 
encouraging,  and  I  covet  that  intended  sneer  as 
a  permanent  tribute  to  any  church  of  which  I 
may  be  pastor — a  House  of  Refuge  is  what  I 
want  St.  Andrew's  to  be.  Surely  the  young 
woman  you  have  named  needs  a  place  of  refuge*?" 

"Then  I  understand  you  will  still  allow  her  to 
attend  our  church,  despite  the  wishes  of  two  of 
the  most  loyal  and  best-giving  families  you  have, 
Mr.  Fearnon?"  Mrs.  Farsee  placed  an  unmis- 
takable emphasis  on  "best  giving." 

"Your  understanding  is  quite   correct,   Mrs. 


NELL'S  HOME-GOING  199 

Farsee,  and  if  ever  St.  Andrew's  Church  closes  its 
doors  on  any  man  or  woman,  in  like  circumstances 
to  the  one  you  refer  to,  I  care  not  how  sinworn 
and  wretched,  it  closes  them  at  the  same  time  on 
Thomas  Fearnon — we  go  out  together." 

"If  that  is  your  decision,"  replied  Mrs.  Farsee 
haughtily,  "please  remove  the  names  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  M.  T.  Farsee  and  Miss  Lucy  Farsee  from 
the  membership  roll,  and  I  am  also  authorized 
by  Mrs.  Shunum  to  tell  you  that  all  the  Shunums 
withdraw  from  the  church  for  the  same  reason." 

Thomas  Fearnon  retired  that  night  sad  at 
heart — not  that  the  loss  of  these  two  families 
from  the  membership  roll  gave  him  much  con- 
cern, for  to  tell  the  truth  he  was  more  concerned 
to  know  how  they  ever  came  to  be  put  on  the  roll, 
but  he  was  concerned  to  find  that  kind  of  spirit 
among  the  membership  of  the  congregation  to 
which  he  had  come  with  such  high  hopes,  fresh 
from  college.  So  far  as  losing  members  was  con- 
cerned, he  reminded  himself  that,  in  God's  arith- 
metic, subtraction  often  produced  an  increase. 
Perhaps  of  his  congregation  the  words  of  Scrip- 
ture were  true,  "The  people  are  yet  too  many." 
Nevertheless,  the  offended  families  needed  His 
Saviour  and  the  ministry  of  the  church  as  much 
as,  perhaps  more  than,  the  poor  creature  whose 
very  presence  they  thought  denied  their  heretofore 
select  congregation. 


200  MASTERED  MEN 

The  following  Sabbath  morning  the  text  was 
Luke  xix:  10,  "For  the  Son  of  Man  is  come  to 
seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost."  Those 
who  had  attended  Mrs.  Farsee's  "afternoon 
bridge"  on  the  preceding  Thursday  knew  that 
the  sermon  was  the  outgrowth  of  the  "interview." 
None  of  them  used  their  favourite  adjective 
"lovely"  of  Thomas  Fearnon's  sermon  that  morn- 
ing; the  mission  of  the  Master  and  the  consequent 
mission  of  His  church  was  presented  with  a 
clearness  and  an  earnestness  that  made  not  a  few 
decidedly  uncomfortable." 

"I  charge  }^ou,  my  fellow  workers,"  he  pleaded, 
"never  to  degenerate  into  dilettante  church  par- 
lour triflers,  but  strike  out  for  God  in  hard  work 
to  recover  the  lost.  There  are  those  whose  life's 
roses  are  turned  to  ashes,  those  who  have  almost 
forgotten  how  to  smile,  those  from  whose  hearts 
all  music  has  fled.  What  an  incomparable  joy 
to  tell  them  of,  and  seek  to  lead  them  to,  the  One 
who  with  divine  delicacy  said,  'Neither  do  I  con- 
demn thee;  go  and  sin  no  more.'  That  welcom- 
ing Saviour  would  speak  through  us  to  those 
whom  too  often  we,  professedly  His  followers, 
would  cast  out.  If  every  individual  in  this  world 
treated  the  fallen  as  you  do,  my  friend,  would 
it  be  easy  or  hard  for  that  one  to  get  into  the 
Kingdom  of  God?  Where  shall  the  wanderers 
be  welcome  if  not  in  the  Father's  House?    Where 


NELL'S  HOME-GOING  201 

shall  those  whom  He  created  and  for  whom  He 
died  find  friendship  and  help,  if  not  in  that  com- 
pany of  worshippers  who  cry  'Our  Father'  ?" 

To  not  a  few  the  message  of  that  morning 
seemed  intensely  personal.  In  that  inner  judg- 
ment hall,  where  the  prisoner  and  the  judge  are 
one,  some  verdicts  were  arrived  at,  and  the  ver- 
dicts were  "guilty." 

"If  every  individual  in  this  world  treated  the 
fallen  as  you  do,  would  it  be  easy  or  hard  for 
that  one  to  get  into  the  Kingdom  of  Godw?" 

Thomas  Fearnon  had  asked  that  question  with 
an  intensity  of  feeling  that  revealed  itself  in  the 
whispered  words,  and  that  produced  a  profound 
silence  throughout  the  sanctuary.  And  it  was 
not  in  vain  that  he  had  put  his  best  into  prayer 
and  preparation  for  that  morning's  message.  At 
least  one  in  the  congregation  asked  to  be  forgiven 
for  passing  by,  like  priest  and  Levite,  needy  ones 
to  whom  there  should  and  could  have  been  a 
ministry  of  mercy. 

Jessie  Buchanan  saw  the  "vision  splendid" 
that  morning,  and  no  longer  could  she  be  satis- 
fied with  her  life  of  elegant  ease.  From  that 
very  hour  her  life  and  all  the  trappings  of  life 
were  promised  fully  to  her  rightful  Lord — no 
longer  would  she  hope  to  have  Him  as  Saviour 
but  reject  Him  as  Lord. 


202  MASTERED  MEN 

A  peaceful  Sabbath  day's  services  had  closed, 
and  in  the  quiet  of  her  beautiful  and  cosy  little 
"den"  Jessie  Buchanan  sat  talking  to  a  friend 
before  the  flickering  embers  in  the  fireplace. 
Three  months  had  passed  away  since  Thomas 
Fearnon's  sermon  on  Luke  xix:io,  three  months 
of  sometimes  perplexing  but  always  joyous  ser- 
vice to  Jessie  Buchanan.  Already  several  lives 
had  been  gladdened  and  helped  by  the  radiating 
influence  of  her  consecrated  life. 

The  Buchanan  home  on  the  hillcrest  had 
gladly  opened  its  doors  during  these  three  months 
to  some  who  had  never  expected  to  cross  its 
threshold.  And  so  to-night,  for  the  third  time, 
the  young  woman  who  had  unknowingly  caused 
the  departure  of  two  families  from  St.  Andrew's 
Church,  sat  in  the  fire-light  with  her  new-found 
friend. 

Wisely  and  unostentatiously  Jessie  Buchanan 
had  made  her  acquaintance,  and  their  meetings 
had  been  invariably  away  from  the  public  eye. 
But  into  the  broken  life  was  coming  the  conquer- 
ing power  of  an  unselfish  love.  To-night,  as  the 
flames  diminished,  the  young  woman  unfolded  a 
little  of  her  life. 

"Please  don't  hate  me  for  it — I  had  to  tell 
some  one.  Oh!  if  only  some  one  like  you  had 
helped  me  when  I  first  went  to  the  city;  but  it 
was  my  own  fault.    Still,  if  you  do  wrong  there 


NELL'S  HOME-GOING  203 

seems  so  many  more  to  help  you  to  keep  on  in  the 
same  way  than  there  are  to  help  you  back." 

For  some  minutes  she  talked  on,  and  then 
Jessie  Buchanan  moved  her  chair  a  little  closer 
and  laid  a  hand  sympathetically  upon  the  girl's 
shoulder. 

"You  think  my  name  is  Flossie,  don't  you, 
Miss  Buchanan?"  the  girl  asked  slowly.  "Well, 
it  isn't.  Nobody  here  knows  either  of  my  right 
names,  but  I'm  going  to  tell  you :  my  right  name 
is  Nellie  Gillard;  and  Miss  Buchanan,  I  want 
to  be  good  again,  and  maybe  get  back  home 
soon — only,  I'm  afraid,  for  I  haven't  even  writ- 
ten for  nearly  a  year."  Tears  were  wiped  away 
as  the  memory  of  the  old  home  was  revived  in  the 
light  of  new  desires. 

***** 
Another  week  was  nearing  its  close,  and  Jessie 
Buchanan  was  as  usual  making  her  plans  for  a 
hospitable  Sunday.  Glancing  down  the  drive- 
way, she  was  surprised  to  see  Nellie  Gillard  ap- 
proaching the  house.  This  was  the  first  daylight 
visit  Nellie  had  made,  and  Saturday  morning  was 
so  unusual  a  time  that  Jessie  Buchanan  was  at 
the  door  before  the  bell-handle  could  be  pulled. 
A  cordial  greeting  and  Nellie  was  accompanied 
to  the  now  familiar  den.  As  the  door  closed  the 
visitor  at  once  made  known  the  purpose  of  her 


204  MASTERED  MEN 

visit.  "Miss  Buchanan,  I'd  like  to  go  home,  but 
I  cannot — I  dare  not  go  alone." 

"Oh!  I'm  so  glad  you  have  decided.  How 
soon  do  you  wish  to  go,  dear1?"  Jessie  Buchan- 
an's voice  and  face  revealed  her  joy  and  thank- 
fulness. 

"I'd  like  to  go  right  away,"  was  the  reply. 

Within  a  few  hours  Nellie  and  her  new-found 
friend  were  on  their  way  to  the  railway  station. 

The  "local"  was  nearly  three  hours  late  when 
almost  at  midnight  it  pulled  into  a  little  flag  sta- 
tion in  North- Western  Ontario.  It  was  over  two 
miles  to  the  Gillards'  home,  and  Jessie  Buchanan 
suggested  the  desirability  of  getting  the  station 
agent  to  assist  them  in  procuring  a  vehicle  and 
driver. 

The  night  was  clear  and  bright,  and  Nellie 
urged  that  if  it  was  not  too  tiring  for  her  com- 
panion she  would  much  rather  walk.  "I  know 
every  step  of  the  way,  and — and — well  you  are 
the  only  one  I  want  with  me  just  now." 

In  the  moonlight  of  that  early  October  night 
two  young  women  might  have  been  seen  walking 
along  the  fifth  concession. 

At  a  turn  of  the  road  Nellie  pointed  to  a  little 
building:  "There  is  the  schoolhouse  I  attended." 
When  a  church  spire  stood  out  clear  against  the 
sky,  there  was  a  sob  in  the  voice,  "I  used  to  teach 
in  that  Sunday  School  and  sing  in  the  choir." 


NELL'S  HOME-GOING  205 

The  gate  of  the  old  homestead  was  reached  at 
last.  The  wanderer's  hand  clung  for  a  moment 
to  the  top  rail  and  the  head  rested  on  her  forearm. 

"I  wonder — I  wonder  if  Father  will  let  me  in; 
I  don't  deserve  it,  but  I  believe  he  will."  And 
she  was  not  mistaken. 

At  the  side  of  the  old  roughcast  dwelling,  two 
bedroom  windows  had  been  raised  a  few  inches. 
Beneath  these  the  only  daughter  of  the  home 
called  out  in  a  trembling  voice,  "Father."  There 
was  no  response.  Could  anything  have  hap- 
pened? A  second  time  on  the  silent  night  the 
voice  anxiously  uttered  the  same  word.  Imme- 
diately thereafter  they  heard  a  movement  and 
a  man's  head  appeared  at  the  window.  "Father ! 
it's  Nell:  I  want  to  be  your  Nell  again.  Will 
you  let  me  come  home?" 

"Let  you  come  home?  You  bet  I  will,  Nell — 
you  bet  I  will."  The  last  words  were  re-uttered 
after  the  head  had  disappeared. 

The  only  other  words  they  heard  were,  "Ma! 
Ma!"  uttered  in  a  voice  trembling  with  joy. 

No  pen  can  adequately  describe  that  home- 
coming. Jessie  Buchanan  was  forgotten  for  the 
moment,  but  as  she  saw  the  daughter's  head  rest- 
ing first  on  father's  and  then  on  mother's  shoul- 
der, and  heard  the  old  man  say  again  and  again, 
"My  Nell !  oh !  my  Nell,"  her  cup  of  joy  was  full. 

It  was  not  what  one  could  call  a  praying  home, 


206  MASTERED  MEN 

but  on  that  early  Sabbath  morning  four  people 
knelt  in  the  little  sitting-room,  and  Jessie  Bu- 
chanan's first  audible  prayer  was  offered  in 
thanksgiving  for  the  home-coming  of  the  wan- 
derer. And  to-day,  in  the  little  church  in  the 
grove,  one  of  the  regular  worshippers  is  Nellie 
Gillard. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    HEEMIT 

The  missionary  had  received  instructions  from 
the  Superintendent  to  go  into  a  remote  and 
sparsely  populated  District  in  the  Green  River 
Country. 

The  settlement  to  which  he  was  to  minister  lay 
forty  miles  from  the  railway  station.  "You  will 
just  have  to  make  the  best  arrangements  you  can 
for  getting  from  the  station  to  your  field,"  was 
all  the  direction  he  received  as  to  how  to  cover 
the  last  forty  of  the  almost  two  thousand  miles 
of  his  journey. 

At  the  general  store  and  postoffice — a  short 
distance  from  Heathcote  flag-station,  he  made  in- 
quiries about  getting  out  to  Cameron's  Plain. 
The  information  from  the  store-keeper  was  not 
encouraging.  "Ain't  been  nobody  from  that  way 
for  quite  a  spell,  stranger.  Roads  is  somethin' 
fierce,  and  the  river  is  on  the  rampage  just  now, 
and  it  takes  a  mighty  good  hoss  to  make  it." 

"How's  chances  for  getting  to  the  Plain, 
Dan"?"  he  called  to  a  man  sitting  on  a  nail  keg. 
Dan  disposed  of  a  mouthful  of  tobacco  juice,  and 

207 


208  MASTERED  MEN 

wiped  his  lips  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  "  'Taint 
likely  too  bad  as  far  as  the  Split  Rock,  but  by 
gosh!  ye'd  have  some  picnic  to  make  the  Cross- 
ing." 

The  missionary  was  anxious  to  get  to  his  new 
charge  as  soon  as  possible,  and  when  he  discov- 
ered that  Dan  had  been  frequently  over  the  road, 
he  turned  to  him  for  advice  as  to  the  best  way 
of  making  the  trip.  Dan  thought  the  Crossing 
might  be  made  on  horseback,  although  the  water 
would  be  "darned  cold"  and  a  man  might  have 
to  do  some  swimming  himself  before  he'd  make 
the  other  side. 

"I've  never  ridden  horseback,"  said  the  mis- 
sionary hesitatingly,  "and  I  have  a  good  deal  of 
baggage  that  I  shall  need  right  away,  for  I  am 
going  to  'bach.'  " 

Dan's  curiosity  was  aroused — for  visitors  were 
few  and  far  between  at  Heathcote,  and  still 
fewer  at  Cameron's  Plain.  While  matters  were 
being  more  fully  explained  he  eyed  the  stranger 
critically,  and  kept  his  jaws  steadily  working  on 
his  chewing  tobacco.  "O-o-o-oh!"  he  drawled, 
"So  you're  the  guy  that's  going  to  spout  in  the 
Plain  every  Sunday !  I  mind  Billy  Merrill  sayin' 
they  was  going  to  have  a  parson  in  the  Spring. 
Can't  you  stay  here  a  spell  'till  the  roads  dry 
up  a  bit?  If  you'd  ever  seen  the  place  you're 
a-goin'  to,  you  wouldn't  be  in  such  a  gol-darn 


THE  HERMIT  209 

hurry  to  get  there.  'Taint  no  place  for  a  Chris- 
tian to  live  in.  Still  if  you're  set  on  making  the 
trip,  and  willin'  to  risk  your  neck  and  can  put 
up  the  dough,  I  guess  Jimmie  Stevenson' 11  haul 
you  thar.  He's  got  a  pair  of  bronchos  that'll  pull 
his  old  buckboard  through  fire  and  brimstone." 

Jimmie  was  located  at  the  blacksmith  shop, 
and  was  willing  to  make  the  trip  for  fifteen  dol- 
lars "seein'  as  how  it  was  for  the  sky  pilot." 
"You  can  stay  at  our  place  to-night,  and  we'll 
get  an  early  start  in  the  mornin'."  Jimmie's 
abode  consisted  of  two  rooms  and  the  missionary 
had  the  edge  of  a  home-made  bed  which  also 
accommodated  Jimmie  and  three  children. 

In  the  morning  the  household  was  astir  early. 
The  visitor  glanced  around  in  search  of  a  wash- 
dish.  One  of  his  young  bedfellows  answered  his 
inquiries  by  conducting  him  to  a  hollowed  log  at 
the  rear  of  the  house.  The  water  in  it  looked 
as  though  it  had  done  service  for  many  days. 
After  the  wooden  plug  was  drawn  out  however 
and  the  primitive  receptacle  cleansed  as  far  as 
possible,  the  missionary  refilled  it  and  had  his 
morning  wash.  The  boy  watched  the  process 
with  a  curiously  interested  gaze.  The  use  of  a 
pocket-comb  and  mirror  was  to  him  a  source  of 
surprise  and  amusement.  When  the  missionary's 
clean-up  had  ended  the  lad  gave  expression  to  his 
pent-up  feelings  by  a  series  of  questions. 


210  MASTERED  MEN 

"Say,  mister,  how  often  do  you  wash  like 
that?" 

"Every  morning,"  was  the  amused  reply. 

"Every  morning — like  that;  every  morning?" 
The  affirmative  answer  only  increased  the  lad's 
wonder.  After  a  moment's  silence  he  continued, 
"Say,  mister,  do  you  use  soap  every  morning*?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  say,  mister,  how  often  do  you  pull  that 
thing  all'  over  your  hair?" 

"I  comb  my  hair  three  or  four  times  each  day, 
I  guess,"  was  the  reply. 

This  seemed  almost  incredible  to  the  lad. 

"You  wash  like  that  every,  every  morning? 
An'  you  comb  your  hair  four  times  every  day?" 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  then  the  boy 
added  in  a  sympathetic  tone: 

"Say,  mister,  yous  must  be  a  pile  of  trouble  to 
yerself." 

An  hour  later,  the  roping  of  the  trunk  to  the 
buckboard  was  completed,  and  with  his  wiry 
little  team  of  bronchos,  Jimmie  and  the  preacher 
started  on  their  long  drive. 

It  did  not  take  the  preacher  long  to  appreciate 
the  store-keeper's  words  that  the  roads  were 
"fierce."  Never  in  his  life  had  he  been  so  jarred 
and  jerked  and  tumbled.  He  tried  to  keep 
steady  by  clutching  the  back  and  front  of  the 
seat,  but  again  and  again  he  was  pitched  well 


THE  HERMIT  211 

on  to  Jimmie's  knee  and  then  back  with  a  painful 
bump  against  the  low  iron  rail.  Several  times 
he  came  dangerously  near  to  landing  head-first 
between  the  bronchos.  The  whole  outfit,  includ- 
ing men  and  trunk,  was  a  mass  of  mud.  That 
which  had  not  been  plastered  by  what  the  wheels 
threw  up  was  splashed  by  the  plunging  bronchos. 
Both  men  were  constantly  wiping  away  the  mud 
from  their  faces.  Here  and  there  where  wayward 
streams  from  melting  snows  had  made  deep 
ditches  in  the  road,  branches  or  logs  had  been 
drawn  in  as  a  makeshift  bridge,  otherwise  such 
washouts  would  have  been  impassable. 

About  noon  refreshment  for  men  and  beasts 
was  procured  at  a  wayside  shack.  The  occupant 
was  asked  as  to  the  condition  of  the  road  up  to  the 
Crossing.  He  gave  the  disquieting  information 
that  for  the  next  five  miles  there  was  "no  bot- 
tom to  it."  For  most  of  the  way  the  best  Jimmie 
could  do  with  Magpie  and  Buster  was  to  keep 
them  at  a  walk.  Gladly  would  he  have  given 
them  an  occasional  rest  but  he  knew  they  must 
be  kept  going,  for  to  stop  would  mean  a  settling 
into  mud  from  which  they  would  be  unable  to 
extricate  themselves.  At  last  they  neared  the 
Crossing.  At  most  seasons  of  the  year  it  was 
the  place  at  which  the  Green  River  could  be 
crossed  without   difficulty   and  in  the   Summer 


212  MASTERED  MEN 

with  the  aid  of  a  few  stepping-stones  one  could 
easily  make  it  on  foot. 

The  road  led  straight  to  the  bank  of  the  river 
at  a  point  where  there  was  a  sharp  curve  directly 
to  the  East  for  the  gradual  descent  to  the  river- 
bed. As  soon  as  Jimmie  was  near  enough  to  see 
the  height  of  the  water  he  shook  his  head  dubi- 
ously and  merely  said:    "By  gum,  I  don't  know.'* 

Standing  up  he  drove  very  carefully  as  he 
neared  the  bank  into  which  the  current  made  in- 
roads each  spring.  The  bronchos  appeared  to 
share  Jimmie's  anxiety  for  they  picked  their  way 
with  unusual  caution. 

Jimmie  had  just  decided  to  investigate  on  foot 
before  driving  any  further  when  one  of  his  horses 
stumbled  and  dropped.  Instantly  he  knew  there 
had  happened  what  he  had  feared — the  rushing 
river  had  again  undermined  the  roadway  at  this 
particular  bend.  A  few  seconds  later  the  ground 
gave  way  all  around  them  and  the  team,  buck- 
board  and  men  dropped  three  or  four  feet  with 
mud  and  soil  dripping  and  falling  on  all  sides. 
Neither  man  was  able  to  retain  his  seat  and  when 
they  struggled  to  their  feet  they  would  have  been 
unrecognizable  by  their  best  friends. 

The  bronchos  plunged  desperately  and  as  they 
crowded  each  other  the  tongue  of  the  buckboard 
got  across  the  back  of  one  of  them  and  broke  off 
near  the  doubletree.     For  a  moment  or  two  the 


THE  HERMIT  213 

mud-covered  men  could  do  little  more  than  cling 
to  the  buckboard  which  was  fast  settling  deeper 
into  the  mire. 

Jimmie  knew  that  things  would  become  still 
more  serious  unless  something  was  quickly  done. 
With  much  effort  the  traces  were  unfastened  and 
the  neck-yoke  released.  In  vigorous  language  he 
yelled  at  his  half  buried  team.  As  they  tried  to 
respond  he  pulled  sharply  on  the  lines  in  an 
endeavour  to  turn  them  in  the  direction  from 
which  they  had  come,  for  to  have  gone  ahead 
would  have  taken  them  into  the  river  at  a  point 
where  the  water  was  too  deep  for  safety. 

It  was  difficult  and  dangerous  work,  and  for 
a  time  it  looked  as  if  both  men  and  horses  would 
never  get  out  of  the  little  lake  of  mud  into  which 
they  seemed  to  be  sinking  deeper  every  minute. 

"  'Taint  no  use  you  staying  in  this  darned  hole, 
stranger,  if  you  can  plough  your  way  out,"  was 
Jimmie's  word  to  the  shivering,  anxious  preacher. 
"The  buckboard's  likely  here  for  the  night  and 
maybe  longer;  but  I've  got  to  get  the  team  out 
soon  or  I'll  lose  'em.  If  you  can  get  out  o'  this, 
make  your  way  back  to  the  first  trail  running 
West.  About  forty  rod  along  you'll  come  to  Bill 
Howe's  place.  Get  him  to  bring  his  team  and  a 
good  rope.    Tell  him  to  hustle." 

After  much  plunging  and  stumbling  the 
preacher  managed  to  gain  the  level  of  the  road- 


214  MASTERED  MEN 

way  and  with  clothing  heavy  with  water  and 
mud,  dragged  his  way  to  the  Howe  ranch. 

The  bronchos,  exhausted  with  their  day's  hard 
drive,  seemed  unable  to  make  the  effort  necessary 
to  get  to  higher  ground.  They  were  embedded 
in  mud  to  the  haunches.  Jimmie  worked  away 
at  the  harness  and  unfastened  or  cut  all  off  but 
the  bridles.  He  sought  in  vain  to  make  more 
solid  footing  for  his  team,  but  with  the  aid  of  a 
piece  of  charred  tree  trunk  he  made  a  little  better 
slope  to  the  side  of  the  cave-in  up  which  he  was 
endeavouring  to  get  them.  He  was  especially 
concerned  about  his  favorite  driver  "Magpie," 
and  by  combined  shouting  and  beating  he  eventu- 
ally got  her  to  the  side  of  the  road  and  tied  her 
to  a  poplar  while  he  prepared  to  do  what  he 
could  for  "Buster." 

A  few  minutes  later  he  heard  the  rattle  of  a 
wagon  and  Bill  Howe  and  his  hired  man  ap- 
peared. With  the  aid  of  a  rope  around  his  neck 
and  assistance  from  one  of  Bill's  horses,  Buster 
was  at  last  alongside  of  Magpie.  The  two  ani- 
mals gave  a  peculiar  little  whinny  of  pleasure  at 
the  reunion. 

An  examination  showed  that  Buster  had  corked 
himself  badly  in  his  struggles  and  the  wound 
would  need  careful  cleansing  and  bandaging. 

Jimmie  waded  through  the  mud  once  more 
and  fastened  the  rope  to  the  back  of  the  buck- 


THE  HERMIT  215 

board  and  it  was  slowly  hauled  to  higher  ground 
and  the  trunk  transferred  to  the  Howe  waggon. 

The  following  day,  Jimmie  and  the  mission- 
ary, having  made  arrangements  to  use  Bill  Howe's 
team,  continued  their  journey.  Buster's  injured 
fetlock  needed  rest  and  care.  Bill's  horses  had 
frequently  made  the  Crossing  and  left  to  them- 
selves would  usually  pick  the  best  way.  The 
heavier  waggon  was  deemed  a  safer  conveyance 
than  the  damaged  buckboard. 

A  detour  had  to  be  made  to  avoid  the  danger- 
ous bit  of  roadway  and  there  were  many  rough 
and  difficult  places  to  get  over,  but  at  last  they 
reached  the  river-bed. 

Very  slowly  and  cautiously  the  horses  splashed 
their  way  through  the  deepening  water  and  in 
several  places  it  seemed  as  if  the  men  were  taking 
foolish  risks  in  attempting  such  a  trip. 

There  were  anxious  moments  when  the  waggon- 
box  touched  the  water  and  for  a  while  the  men's 
feet  had  to  be  raised  to  the  top  of  the  dashboard. 
The  trunk  had  to  be  upended  on  a  couple  of 
blocks  and  even  then  became  submerged  to  the 
extent  of  two  or  three  inches.  The  missionary's 
belongings  had  been  banged  and  jarred  in  an  ap- 
parently most  disastrous  fashion  and  now  a  par- 
tial soaking  was  being  added  to  the  probable 
damage. 

He  regretted  having  been  persuaded  to  bring 


216  MASTERED  MEN 

along  certain  breakables,  and  especially  a  jar  of 
black  currant  jam  that  his  maiden  Aunt  had  felt 
to  be  very  desirable  "for  Joey's  throat."  Hot 
water  added  to  black  currant  jam  was  her  favor- 
ite remedy  for  throat  trouble. 

Every  stone  they  had  struck  since  he  left 
Heathcote  suggested  the  probable  wanderings  of 
that  jam,  and  with  the  addition  of  a  little  water 
it  would  be  likely  to  travel  faster  and  farther. 
But  the  trunk  troubles  were  not  yet  ended.  There 
had  been  no  thought  of  tying  it  to  the  heavy 
waggon-box,  for  it  could  not  move  very  far  in  any 
event,  and  after  it  had  been  upended  one  of  the 
men  had  kept  a  hand  on  it.  Suddenly  however  a 
front  wheel  struck  the  base  of  a  sloping  rock  and 
made  the  ascent,  and  in  a  second  or  two  the  men 
were  clinging  to  the  high  side  of  the  waggon  seat 
to  keep  themselves  from  being  pitched  into  the 
water.  The  trunk  slid  quickly  and  heavily 
against  the  low  side  and  somehow  went  over- 
board. The  men  were  too  busy  trying  to  save 
themselves  to  know  just  how  it  happened  but 
they  got  part  of  the  benefit  of  the  splash  and  the 
trunk  was  gone.  The  horses  responded  to  Jim- 
mie's  yell  as  the  waggon  wheel,  with  a  brutal 
bump,  dropped  them  from  the  top  of  the  rock  to 
the  level  again. 

The  men  looked  helplessly  in  the  direction  of 
the  trunk.     "My  things  will  be  ruined:     I've 


THE  HERMIT  217 

books  and  pictures  and  papers  that  will  be  com- 
pletely spoiled.  How  can  we  get  it  out  quickly, 
Mr.  Stevenson^"  Jimmie,  removing  his  coat  and 
baring  his  arm,  went  to  the  end  of  the  waggon 
box.  His  efforts  to  move  the  trunk  were  unsuc- 
cessful. He  could  just  touch  it  but  that  was  all. 
He  tried  to  back  the  horses  but  they  objected  to 
going  that  way  and  besides  the  rock  would  have 
prevented.  "There  aint  no  way  of  getting  it 
'cept  to  strip  off  and  get  in,  but  a  man  'ud  pretty 
nigh  freeze  if  he  was  in  fer  long,"  said  Jimmie. 
It  was  evident  he  himself  had  no  particular  de- 
sire for  a  bath  just  then. 

The  missionary  put  his  coat  over  the  seat,  and 
removed  most  of  his  clothing.  Never  had  water 
looked  more  uninviting  than  that  rushing  muddy 
stream,  but — it  was  now  or  never  if  his  "traps" 
were  to  be  of  any  use.  Jimmie  made  a  few  sym- 
pathetic remarks  as  his  scantily-clad  companion 
moved  nearer  to  where  the  trunk  lay.  One  foot 
was  put  over  the  edge  of  the  waggon  and  into  the 
water,  but  the  temperature  caused  a  quick  with- 
drawal. Two  or  three  other  attempts  were  made 
and  then  a  foot  got  as  far  as  the  hub  of  the  near 
wheel.  At  last  with  a  gasp  that  could  not  be 
suppressed  the  missionary  was  standing  in  the 
water.  But  it  is  one  thing  to  stand  in  cold  water 
and  altogether  another  thing  to  stoop  low  enough 
to  lift  an  object  from  the  river  bottom.    It  needed 


218  MASTERED  MEN 

several  attempts  to  accomplish  it  and  the  mis- 
sionary's teeth  were  chattering  as  Jimmie  said 
afterwards  "like  one  of  them  there  typewriters." 

When  the  trunk  was  upended  near  to  the  wheel 
Jimmie  managed  to  get  hold  of  the  handle  and 
it  soon  rested  in  the  waggon  again.  As  he  fol- 
lowed his  damaged  belongings  the  shivering  mis- 
sionary said,  "T-h-hat  m-man  D-d-an  at  Heath- 
cote  t-told  me  th-the  wa-water  would  be  d-darned 
c-cold  and  he  sp-poke  the  absolute  truth."  Jim- 
mie smiled,  and  knew  that  for  many  a  day  he 
would  be  able  to  entertain  all  and  sundry  persons 
with  the  story  of  the  preacher's  trunk. 

When  the  other  side  was  reached  the  mission- 
ary decided  to  walk  for  a  while.  He  rarely  used 
slang  but  it  seemed  to  relieve  his  feelings  a  little 
as  he  looked  up  at  Jim  on  the  waggon-box  and 
said:    "Sam  Hill!  this  is  some  trip,  believe  me." 

For  nearly  two  miles  he  kept  ahead  of  the 
team,  and  travelling  over  rough  roads  soon 
brought  warmth  to  the  body.  The  remaining  two 
miles  he  rode  and  walked  by  turns. 

At  last  Jimmie  Stevenson  pointed  ahead  to  a 
little  curl  of  smoke  that  was  seen  above  a  small 
clump  of  scrubby  trees.  "Yon's  Ronald  Cam- 
eron's place." 

As  they  turned  toward  the  clearance  a  boy  ran 
out  to  let  down  the  poles  for  the  team  to  enter, 


THE  HERMIT  219 

and   Jimmie    drove    up    to   the    low   unpainted 
weather-browned  house  of  the  Camerons. 

It  was  a  humble  dwelling  with  only  three 
small  windows.  The  doorway  was  so  low  that  a 
person  of  average  height  had  to  stoop  to  gain 
entrance. 

The  arrival  of  the  new  minister  caused  a  good 
deal  of  confusion  and  embarrassment  for  a  few 
minutes,  but  Joseph  Woods  received  a  genuine 
welcome  to  his  new  field  of  labour  and  Mrs. 
Cameron's  kind  and  motherly  manner  lightened 
a  good  deal  of  the  burden  of  the  day. 

The  good-natured  soul  lifted  her  hands  and 
exhibited  the  palms  in  sympathetic  astonishment 
as  she  heard  a  part  of  the  story  of  the  new  preach- 
er's experience  in  getting  to  the  Plain. 

She  bustled  around  and  prepared  Aleck's  bed- 
room for  the  missionary  to  get  on  some  dry 
clothes,  and  with  profuse  apologies  for  not  hav- 
ing had  time  to  mend  some  of  the  articles  placed 
at  his  disposal  she  left  him  to  make  a  change. 
When  he  was  clothed  in  Aleck's  dry  garments  he 
wondered  if  he  looked  as  uncomfortable  as  he 
felt.  He  explained  to  a  friend  sometime  after 
that  he  was  "tickled  to  death"  with  Aleck's  coarse 
undergarments. 

While  Mrs.  Cameron  prepared  the  meal,  the 
missionary  inspected  the  contents  of  his  trunk. 

When  a  man  is  undertaking  such  a  work  as 


220  MASTERED  MEN 

that  to  which  Joseph  Woods  had  gone,  nothing 
helps  more  than  to  get  his  room  fixed  up  with 
the  things  from  home.  But  the  condition  of  the 
missionary's  belongings  was  enough  to  make  a 
man  weep.  The  sealer  containing  the  black  cur- 
rant jam  had  not  been  able  to  stand  the  mishaps 
of  these  eventful  days,  and  with  the  exception 
of  two  compartments  in  the  trunk  tray  the  jam 
had  visited  in  every  direction.  Mrs.  Cameron 
shook  her  head  in  sympathy  but  said  hopefully: 
"You  just  sit  in  and  take  a  bite  such  as  it  is,  and 
I'll  do  what  I  can  at  your  things  and  maybe  they 
won't  be  so  awful  bad  after  all.  Get  the  wash 
tub,  Aleck,  and  put  a  few  more  sticks  in  the  stove, 
so  we'll  get  a  good  drying  fire." 

During  the  evening  the  missionary  talked 
over  the  situation  and  got  all  the  information 
possible  from  the  Camerons. 

Yes  he  would  have  to  "bach,"  for  accommoda- 
tion was  the  problem  they  had  been  unable  to 
solve.  No  one  in  the  district  had  a  spare  room 
and  it  had  been  understood  that  the  preacher 
would  look  after  himself.  Even  for  "baching"  no 
arrangements  had  as  yet  been  made  and  no  fur- 
nishings were  in  sight.  They  informed  him  that 
there  was  a  one-roomed  shack  he  could  get  and 
that  Aleck  would  drive  him  to  take  a  look  at  it 
after  the  chores  were  done  the  next  morning. 
A  drive  of  nearly  two  miles  shortly  after  break- 


THE  HERMIT  221 

fast  the  following  day  brought  the  missionary 
to  the  only  building  in  the  whole  district  that  was 
available  for  his  occupancy.  It  had  once  been 
used  as  a  granary,  and  was  constructed  entirely 
of  scantling  and  light  clapboards.  There  was 
no  glass  in  the  only  window,  and  no  fastening  to 
the  crudely-made  door.  One  end  of  the  place 
had  no  flooring,  and  at  least  a  dozen  gopher  holes 
were  in  sight.  The  little  grey  burrowers  peeped 
out  now  and  again,  and  having  had  undisputed 
possession  for  so  long,  uttered  their  protesting 
squeak  at  the  presence  of  the  intruders.  The 
place  was  so  dirty  and  so  poorly  constructed  that 
it  seemed  impossible  as  a  place  of  human  abode. 

Yet,  this  was  the  only  shelter  provided  for  one 
who  was  engaged  in  as  big  and  noble  a  task  as 
the  world  offers.  As  he  gazed  upon  the  cheerless 
shack,  the  young  missionary  had  mingled  feelings 
of  anger  and  disappointment.  Was  this  the  best 
the  Church  and  community  could  do  for  one  who 
was  giving  the  choicest  years  of  his  life  to  the 
service  of  God  and  man?  Should  he  put  up  with 
it?  Was  he  justified  in  living  half  a  mile  from 
his  nearest  neighbours  in  a  building  far  inferior 
to  many  a  cattleshed  or  chicken  coop?  Surely  it 
was  bad  enough  to  be  deprived  of  companionship, 
or  libraries,  and  of  all  the  social  advantages  he 
had  formerly  had,  without  putting  up  with  a 
shack  in  which  a  man  could  scarcely  retain  his 


222  MASTERED  MEN 

self-respect.  This  was  the  twentieth  century  and 
it  was  neither  necessary  nor  desirable  that  a 
preacher  should  so  live. 

Perhaps  Aleck  surmised  the  missionary's 
thoughts — "It  ain't  much  of  a  place,  but  I  guess 
we  could  help  you  fix  it  up  a  bit.  It  wouldn't 
be  so  awful  bad  if  it  was  floored  all  over  and  got 
some  glass  in  the  window.  Guess  we  could  have 
a  'bee'  and  clean  it  up,  and  stop  the  roof  from 
leaking.  I  mind  that  end  was  leaking  like  a 
sieve  one  day  when  I  stood  inside  out  of  a  storm. 
Maybe  we  can  get  some  glass  that  will  keep  the 
wind  out  'til  we  can  drive  to  town  and  get  regu- 
lar panes." 

The  missionary  tried  to  smile  appreciatively, 
but  it  was  difficult.  Aleck  noticed  it  and  con- 
tinued— "The  women- folks  have  been  counting 
on  having  a  preacher  for  this  long  time,  and 
they'd  be  awful  sore  if  you  couldn't  stay.  They're 
kind  o'  set  on  the  thing.  Kind  o'  anxious  about 
the  kids,  I  guess.  Don't  seem  right  to  them  for 
kids  to  grow  up  without  a  church." 

At  the  moment  the  words  had  little  effect  upon 
the  missionary — the  difficulties  and  privations 
loomed  large. 

Few  people  can  realize  the  loneliness,  discour- 
agement and  discomfort  of  certain  pioneer 
mission-fields,  to  the  city-bred  man  who  for  the 
first  time  takes  up  such  work,  and  it  may  as  well 


THE  HERMIT  22S 

be  said  here  that  few  people  realize  the  joy  that 
comes  to  the  missionary  who  has  faced  it  all 
uncomplainingly,  and  has  entered  into  the  life  of 
the  people,  and  given  them  unstintingly  of  his 
best.  Between  him  and  them  there  exists  a  sin- 
gular and  blessed  attachment,  and  his  visits  to 
some  of  the  scattered  settlers  are  the  brightest 
days  of  all  the  year.  Many  a  benediction  is  pro- 
nounced upon  the  man  who  listens  and  counsels, 
and  by  Bible  message  and  prayer  seeks  to  bring 
sustenance  to  some  whose  lives  are  burdened  or 
lonely  almost  beyond  endurance. 

After  a  few  minutes  silence  the  missionary 
replied:  "Well,  I'm  here,  and  if  it's  as  hard  to 
get  out  as  it  was  to  get  in,  I  shall  have  to  stay 
for  a  while  anyway,  and  I'm  much  obliged  for 
your  willingness  to  help,  Aleck.  If  you  think 
you  can  get  a  few  of  the  neighbours  to  give  a 
hand,  why  the  sooner  we  get  on  the  job  the  bet- 
ter." 

That  night  he  thought  it  all  over  when  the 
household  was  asleep.  For  a  while  he  almost 
convinced  himself  that  life  was  too  short  and 
too  precious  to  be  wasted  in  such  a  dreary  spot, 
and  on  so  few  people.  Then,  to  live  so  far  away 
from  neighbours — could  he,  and  should  he  en- 
dure it*?  And  what  a  hole  to  be  in  in  the  case 
of  sickness!  The  nearest  doctor  forty  miles 
away!     Even  the  thought  of  the  night  in  such 


224  MASTERED  MEN 

a  shell  as  the  one  they  were  planning  he  should 
occupy  gave  him  nervous  chills.  He  had  never 
yet  slept  alone  in  any  house — and  to  be  half  a 
mile  from  another  soul !  And  then  to  cook,  eat, 
sleep  and  study  in  a  place  10x14 — for  that 
was  the  measurement  Aleck  had  taken  for  the 
flooring.  How  could  he  stand  it4?  Then  the 
long  and  lonely  walks  and  drives,  and  at  the  end 
of  the  day, — a  shack  such  as  that,  with  the  added 
burden  of  preparing  his  own  meals  when  he  came 
home  completely  "tuckered  out." 

Then  he  seemed  to  see  Aleck  standing  in  the 
doorway  of  the  shack  with  his  head  turned  from 
him  and  saying  in  a  half-apologetic  tone, 
as  though  the  women  were  the  only  ones  con- 
cerned: "They're  kind  o'  anxious  about  the  kids, 
I  guess." 

Yes,  there  were  the  boys  and  girls!  Growing 
up  in  a  community  without  a  church — but  there 
were  only  thirteen,  all  told!  Thirteen  boys  and 
girls!    What  could  be  done  with  thirteen? 

Many  other  questions  did  Joseph  Woods  ask 
himself  through  those  night  hours,  as  he  lay  on 
a  very  uncomfortable  improvised  bed. 

Then  there  came  to  him  a  passage  that  one  of 
the  Church's  evangelists  had  given  him  some 
years  before.  He  had  been  troubled  about  the 
future,  and  Proverbs  iii :  6  had  given  him  confi- 
dence:   "In  all  thy  ways  acknowledge  Him  and 


THE  HERMIT  225 

He  shall  direct  thy  paths."  Had  the  Divine 
Hand  led  him  here?  He  felt  that  he  could  say 
"Yes"  to  that  question.  Was  it  just  for  a  trip 
to  the  West  God  had  led  him  hither?  Because 
difficulties  and  discomforts  had  arisen  did  that 
prove  that  he  was  in  the  wrong  place?  Had  not 
the  one  he  called  "Master"  tried  to  make  clear 
to  his  followers  that  the  path  would  be  beset 
with  the  very  things  of  which  he  was  complain- 
ing? Had  not  God  said  "Forward"  to  His  peo- 
ple when  obstacles  seemed  to  make  any  progress 
impossible?  Was  he  complaining  at  the  small- 
ness  of  his  opportunity?  Were  thirteen  Sunday- 
school  scholars  too  few  for  one  of  his  attain- 
ments? How  many  had  his  Master  in  His  train- 
ing class  by  Galilee? 

Before  day  dawned  Joseph  Woods  knew  that 
He  who  had  led  him  to  Cameron's  Plain  would 
sustain  him  there,  and  he  could  face  the  future 
with  courage.  Yes,  with  God's  help  he  would 
stay.  The  old  Superintendent  should  have  no 
regrets  for  sending  him  into  hitherto  unoccupied 
territory. 

The  day-school  scholars  carried  home  the  word 
of  the  preacher's  arrival,  and  that  the  first  serv- 
ice would  be  held  in  the  schoolhouse  on  Sunday 
at  three  o'clock. 

It  was  a  great  Sabbath  for  the  faithful  few 
who  had  appealed  for  a  missionary.     Many  a 


226  MASTERED  MEN 

sacred  memory  was  revived  as  psalm  and  hymn 
and  prayer  and  sermon  formed  part  of  the  wor- 
ship. The  singing  was  poor  from  the  musical 
standpoint  and  to  the  children  there  was  a 
strangeness  about  this  their  first  service  that  pre- 
vented them  from  taking  any  part,  but  the  older 
folk  found  their  voices  in  "Unto  the  hills"  for 
"Sandon"  was  familiar  to  them  all.  Little  was 
said,  but  at  the  close  of  worship  several  went 
away  with  thankful  and  happier  hearts. 

Joseph  Woods  kept  his  promise  to  his  Master 
and  faithfully  toiled  through  the  weeks  and 
months  although  his  work  was  beset  with  diffi- 
culties in  many  directions.  Day  by  day  he  came 
into  contact  with  the  scattered  settlers  and  many 
a  soul  was  the  better  for  the  sympathy  and  help 
he  was  able  to  give. 

"Ever  been  to  see  the  Hermit'?"  asked  Ronald 
Cameron  one  day  as  he  met  the  missionary  trudg- 
ing along  the  road.    "The  Hermit?    Who's  he?" 

"Well,  he's  a  queer  sort  of  chap  that  lives  a 
mile  or  so  back  of  Dan  Taylor's  place.  Nobody 
knows  anything  about  him.  He  sort  of  dropped 
in  here  two  or  three  years  ago  and  don't  seem 
to  want  anybody  to  go  near  him,  but  maybe  you 
could  get  him  out  of  his  shell  a  bit  if  you  took 
him  the  right  way.  The  only  place  he  goes  is  to 
the  store  at  the  Corners  and  he  most  generally 
goes  there  when  nobody  else  is  around.     Jack 


THE  HERMIT  227 

Graham  says  he  wouldn't  want  a  decenter  fellow 
to  deal  with." 

A  few  days  later  the  missionary  located  the 
rarely  travelled  road  leading  to  the  Hermit's 
abode — a  low,  log  building,  almost  hidden  by 
weeds  and  brush.  A  few  articles  of  clothing  were 
napping  on  a  line  near  the  back  door,  and  the 
Hermit,  quite  unaware  of  the  approach  of  the 
visitor,  was  engaged  in  the  skinning  of  a  rabbit 
— a  job  to  which  he  was  evidently  not  accus- 
tomed. 

A  cheery  "Good  afternoon"  from  Mr.  Woods 
caused  him  to  look  up  and  a  shadow  of  displeas- 
ure crossed  his  face  as  he  responded  with  little 
more  than  a  growl.  "It's  many  a  day  since  I've 
seen  a  rabbit  skinned,"  began  Mr.  Woods,  quite 
ignoring  the  Hermit's  lack  of  cordiality.  "I've 
chipped  the  skin  off  many  a  one  in  the  Old  Coun- 
try. We  counted  rabbits  quite  a  delicacy  when 
I  was  a  boy." 

"Blamed  miserable  job,"  said  the  Hermit  in  a 
surly  voice. 

"I  see  you've  got  two  of  them.  Would  you 
mind  if  I  did  the  other  one?'  While  asking  the 
question  he  took  his  knife  from  his  pocket  and 
picked  up  the  second  rabbit.  Tying  the  two  hind 
feet  together  he  hung  it  on  a  nail  at  the  side  of 
the  building.  Quickly  he  slit  the  skin  on  the 
under  side  and  disposed  of  everything  but  the 


228  MASTERED  MEN 

heart.  A  few  other  cuts  around  the  feet  and  he 
was  pulling  off  the  skin  almost  as  easily  as  one 
might  peel  a  banana.  A  cut  or  two  at  the  head 
and  the  skin  was  in  one  piece  and  the  job  done. 
The  Hermit  without  a  thank  you  or  a  smile 
merely  muttered,  "I've  been  at  this  other  bloom- 
ing thing  over  an  hour."  There  was  a  moment's 
silence  and  then  the  missionary  said:  "My  name  is 
Woods;  I'm  holding  services  at  Cameron's  Plain 
and  Shell  Creek  every  Sunday  and  doing  what  I 
can  to  give  a  hand  through  the  week.  Might  I 
ask  your  name?' 

"A  man's  name  doesn't  matter,"  replied  the 
Hermit  surlily. 

"Not  a  particle,"  said  the  missionary.  "I 
thought  as  I  was  passing  I'd  just  call  for  a  bit 
of  a  chat.  I  like  to  get  acquainted  as  far  as  I 
can.  I'd  got  to  get  somewhere  for  a  bite  of 
supper  and  I  wondered  if  I  could  have  it  here." 

The  Hermit  for  the  first  time  looked  squarely 
into  the  missionary's  face  and  Joseph  Woods 
burst  into  a  little  laugh  and  said,  "Perhaps  you 
admire  my  cheek,  but  I'd  like  to  help  you  cook 
and  eat  one  of  those  rabbits.  I  keep  'bach'  my- 
self." 

The  Hermit  with  a  trifle  less  churlishness  than 
he  had  previously  manifested,  muttered  "Come 
in." 

Joseph  Woods  felt  at  once  that  he  was  in  the 


THE  HERMIT  229 

presence  of  a  man  who  had  formerly  lived  under 
very  different  circumstances  and  who  had  for 
some  reason  or  other  deliberately  withdrawn  him- 
self from  his  accustomed  sphere  of  life. 

The  Hermit  appeared  to  be  about  forty  years 
old.  A  mass  of  hair  crowned  a  well-shaped  head, 
and  the  face,  despite  its  severity,  was  markedly 
intelligent. 

For  the  next  hour  the  time  dragged  heavily. 
The  missionary's  questions  and  remarks  were  re- 
plied to  brusquely  and  briefly.  At  last  everything 
was  ready  and  the  two  men  sat  down  to  the 
evening  meal. 

Although  feeling  some  slight  embarrassment 
at  remaining,  Joseph  Woods  felt  constrained  to 
try  to  get  a  little  nearer  to  this  silent  man's  life. 

A  picture  or  two  on  the  wall,  a  solid  leather 
portmanteau  in  a  corner,  a  small  row  of  books 
quite  unusual  in  such  a  district;  what  appeared 
to  be  a  portable  organ,  a  stack  of  sheet  music  on 
a  shelf — these  things  in  such  a  place  told  Joseph 
Woods  that  the  Hermit  had  a  "past." 

"Is  that  an  organ*?"  he  asked  at  length. 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply. 

"Well!  well!  I  haven't  seen  one  since  I  left 
the  East.  They  tell  me  there  isn't  a  piano  or 
organ  in  this  whole  district.  The  children 
around  here  have  never  seen  one." 

In  a  strangely  different  voice  to  his  former 


230  MASTERED  MEN 

tone,  the  Hermit  asked  slowly  and  with  a  slight 
quiver,  "Did  you  ever  hear  one  played?" 

Joseph  Woods  responded  quickly.  "Many  a 
time!  and  I've  tried  my  hand  at  it  occasionally. 
I  like  an  organ  for  sacred  music  rather  than  a 
piano.    To  my  mind  it  expresses  the  soul  better." 

"Expresses  the  soul  better;  expresses  the  soul 
better."  The  Hermit  moved  over  to  the  little 
organ  as  he  repeated  the  words.  "You  said  you'd 
heard  one  played.  I  wonder  if  you  ever  did?" 
It  seemed  a  peculiar  remark  at  the  moment  for 
the  tone  in  which  the  words  were  uttered  clearly 
implied  that  the  Hermit  had  his  doubts.  As  he 
asked  the  question  he  lifted  the  cover  of  the  in- 
strument and  began  to  play. 

Perhaps  the  surroundings  had  something  to  do 
with  it,  perhaps  the  shadows  of  the  evening 
added  their  charm,  but  for  almost  an  hour  the 
missionary  listened  to  music  such  as  he  believed 
he  had  never  before  heard.  The  Hermit  seemed 
to  forget  the  presence  of  his  visitor  and  Joseph 
Woods  had  no  intention  of  disturbing  this 
strangely  secretive  man  as  he  "expressed  his 
soul."  It  hardly  seemed  possible  that  within  so 
small  a  compass  as  a  tiny  reed  organ  such  ex- 
pressive and  soul-moving  harmonies  could  be 
brought  forth.  And  as  he  listened  on  while  twi- 
light deepened  into  darkness  he  knew  there  were 


THE  HERMIT  231 

great  possibilities  in  the  life  of  this  lonely  man. 
He  recalled  the  lines  of  a  great  poet : 

"Understand  Sonora  Hinda  that  the  tunes  are  in  me, 
They  are  not  in  the  lute  till  I  put  them  there." 

Through  those  plaintive  chords  the  Hermit  had 
suggested  much  that  would  never  have  come  from 
his  lips. 

At  length  he  ceased.  Turning  round  to  the 
missionary  he  said  in  a  calm,  quiet  voice,  "Music 
is  the  medicine  of  the  breaking  heart." 

When  Mr.  Woods  left  the  shack  the  hermit 
held  out  his  hand.  "Drop  around  again  if  you 
care  to,  but  don't  bring  anybody  along,  and  no 
need  to  say  anything  of  what  has  gone  on  here 
to-night." 

Ten  days  later  the  missionary  made  his  way 
back  to  the  Hermit's  dwelling.  The  reception,  if 
not  cordial,  was  at  least  civil,  and  the  Hermit 
later  on  invited  him  to  stay  the  night. 

As  the  night  fell  Mr.  Woods  suggested  the  use 
of  the  organ.  "Do  you  sing?"  "Sing?  Sing?" 
The  words  were  repeated  with  the  first  approach 
to  a  laugh — a  hard  sort  of  laugh — that  the  Her- 
mit had  given.  "Yes,  Yes!  I  did  sing  once; 
Drury  Lane,  Haymarket,  Alhambra,  Exeter 
Hall,  Royal  Albert  Hall,  Metropolitan,  Grand." 
He  added  the  names  of  these  famous  theatres  and 


232  MASTERED  MEN 

concert  halls  with  no  other  comment  or  explan- 
ation. 

As  long  as  he  lived  Joseph  Woods  never  for- 
got that  night  of  song.  It  was  an  experience 
that  more  than  compensated  him  for  all  the  pri- 
vations of  those  nine  months  in  Cameron's  Plain. 
The  best  selections  from  oratorios  and  operas  as 
well  as  simpler  songs  were  given  with  a  finish, 
and  skill  and  power  that  kept  the  missionary 
spellbound.  When  the  singer  finished,  Joseph 
Woods  put  his  hand  on  the  Hermit's  shoulder  and 
said,  "I  want  you  to  sing  that  last  song  in  the 
schoolhouse  next  Sunday:  it's  a  sin,  a  downright 
sin  for  you  to  keep  quiet.  Give  us  a  lift.  I'll 
call  for  you  and  we'll  take  the  organ  along." 

Donald  Cameron  could  scarcely  believe  it 
when  the  missionary  told  him  the  Hermit  was  go- 
ing to  sing  in  church  service  the  next  Sunday 
afternoon.  "You  don't  say!  You  don't  say!" 
he  repeated  again  and  again. 

And  the  Hermit  kept  his  word.  He  was  ready 
for  the  service  when  Joseph  Woods  called.  His 
clothing  that  Sunday  was  not  the  clothing  of  the 
backwoods,  and  his  whole  bearing  was  that  of 
a  gentleman. 

The  little  schoolhouse  was  crowded,  and  the 
portable  organ  was  almost  as  much  an  object  of 
interest  and  conversation  as  the  Hermit  himself. 
Twice  the  singer  "lifted,"   as  Mr.   Woods  ex- 


THE  HERMIT  233 

pressed  it,  the  audience  out  of  themselves  "into 
gladder  and  holier  realms." 

For  several  weeks  the  Hermit  placed  his  won- 
derful musical  gifts  at  the  disposal  of  the  com- 
munity and  the  missionary  grew  more  and  more 
attached  to  the  "queer  sort  of  chap"  Donald 
Cameron  had  led  him  to  discover. 

One  cold  night  as  he  sat  with  the  Hermit,  with 
only  the  little  light  from  the  front  damper  of 
the  wood  stove  reflected  upon  their  faces  the 
lonely  man  told  his  story. 

He  had  risen  from  his  seat  and  felt  for  a 
volume  on  his  bookshelf.  From  below  the  front 
cover  he  took  out  a  photograph  and  held  it  to 
the  light  at  the  base  of  the  stove. 

"That's  the  picture  of  the  girl  for  whom  I 
sang  and  lived — and  have  suffered,"  he  added 
slowly  and  sadly.  The  first  time  I  saw  her  was 
when  we  were  playing  "Tannhauser"  in  a  city 
in  the  Midland  counties.  She  had  been  brought 
from  London  to  fill  the  place  of  one  of  the  lead- 
ing ladies  who  had  been  taken  down  with  pneu- 
monia. She  was  a  favorite  understudy  of  the 
manager's  and  she  did  the  part  well.  She  was 
a  bright  little  creature  with  one  of  the  merriest 
laughs  you  ever  heard.  She  was  always  ele- 
gantly dressed  and  was  one  of  those  girls  who 
knew  exactly  what  to  wear  and  just  how  to  put 
it  on.     Most  of  the  men  were  quick  to  pay  her 


234  MASTERED  MEN 

attention  and  she  was  pampered  and  flattered 
and  entertained  by  them  all. 

"To  cut  the  story  short  I  won  out,  and  in  less 
than  three  months  we  were  married  in  a  Ken- 
sington Church.  I  fixed  up  a  pretty  fine  apart- 
ment in  the  Bayswater  district,  as  I  didn't  want 
her  to  be  on  the  road  unless  for  some  special  per- 
formance. The  theatrical  business  is  a  hard  life 
for  a  young  girl,  and  I  wasn't  anxious  to  have 
her  placed  in  the  compromising  positions  that 
it's  not  easy  to  avoid,  especially  as  there  was  no 
place  for  her  in  my  own  company  just  then. 

"But  she  wanted  to  keep  in  touch  with  the 
profession,  and  was  keen  on  getting  on  to  the 
stage  as  often  as  she  could.  I  agreed  to  her 
keeping  up  a  couple  of  parts  and  to  her  singing 
occasionally.  Of  course  I  had  to  be  away  from 
home  most  of  the  time  but  I  planned  dates  so 
as  to  visit  her  as  often  as  I  could  and  two  or 
three  all-week  stands  I  had  her  come  along.  She 
kept  at  me  to  let  her  go  into  the  business  and 
she  had  prepared  a  pretty  good  "turn"  for  a  good 
class  of  vaudeville,  but  I  tried  all  I  could  to  keep 
her  from  it  for  I  didn't  want  her  in  it  again. 

"During  the  first  six  months  of  our  married 
life  if  I  wrote  that  I'd  arrive  at  Paddington  she 
alwajrs  met  me  there,  or  if  I  came  to  one  of  the 
more  central  stations,  I'd  take  the  underground 
to  Praed  St.,  which  was  near  the  apartments,  and 


THE  HERMIT  235 

she'd  have  everything  fixed  up  and  be  right  on 
hand  to  welcome  me. 

"Then  for  a  while  she  wasn't  able  to  meet  me, 
but  I  went  home  all  the  oftener  and  did  what  I 
could  to  add  to  her  comfort.  Over  a  year  went 
by  and  each  time  I  returned  she  seemed  to  be  less 
glad  to  see  me.  I  never  'fell'  to  the  things  that 
have  ruined  hundreds  of  men  in  the  profession 
and  I  was  saving  all  I  could,  hoping  to  make  her 
comfortable  in  a  suburban  home  after  a  few 
years.  I  loved  kids  and  was  glad  when  we  had  a 
baby  girl,  but  it  seemed  to  worry  her  quite  a  bit, 
and  I  felt  badly  when  she  told  me  that  she  wished 
the  baby  hadn't  been  born  as  it  would  interfere 
too  much  with  her  liberty. 

"Things  dragged  on  for  a  year  or  so  and  I  sup- 
pose neither  of  us  had  much  pleasure  in  our  home 
life.  Perhaps  I  was  to  blame — maybe  I  left  her 
alone  too  much,  but  at  any  rate  we  seemed  to 
get  farther  apart  and  there  wasn't  the  confidence 
in  one  another  that  there  should  have  been.  I 
felt  it  and  yet  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  talk 
it  over  with  her. 

"I  loved  her  through  it  all,  but  she  made  so 
little  response  to  any  attentions  I  paid  her  that 
perhaps  without  intending  it  I  may  have  grown 
less  considerate  than  I  should  have  been.  Yet 
I  was  all  the  time  hoping  things  would  come  out 
right  and  after  life  on  the  road  for  fifteen  years 


236  MASTERED  MEN 

I  looked  forward  to  settling  down  in  a  home  of 
our  own. 

"One  day  in  the  early  summer  I  returned  at 
the  week-end,  having  planned  a  bit  of  a  holiday 
up  in  the  Windermere  district.  I  thought  it 
would  do  her  and  the  baby  good  to  take  a  couple 
of  weeks  at  one  of  the  lakeside  hotels.  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  try  to  get  any  misunder- 
standings cleared  up  and  to  tell  her  that  after 
the  next  season's  contract  I  would  take  no  more 
engagements  that  would  keep  me  away  from 
home. 

"When  I  reached  the  apartment,  she  was  out, 
but  she  had  left  a  letter  on  my  desk." 

The  Hermit  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  the 
missionary  glancing  up  saw  painful  memories  re- 
flected upon  his  face.  In  a  voice  that  revealed 
more  emotion  than  he  had  yet  shown,  he  con- 
tinued, "She  was  gone! — told  me  married  life 
in  an  apartment  was  too  tame.  Said  I  had  bet- 
ter not  try  to  find  her  as  it  would  not  help 
matters.  I  tell  you  it  was  staggering  news  and 
I  could  scarcely  believe  my  eyes,  when  I  read 
that  she  had  left  our  baby  girl  in  a  children's 
home.  She  asked  me  to  make  what  arrangements 
I  wished  for  the  future  and  reminded  me  that 
she  never  wanted  the  child  and  could  not  be 
bothered  caring  for  her. 

"The  next  two  days  were  hell  for  me,  and  I 


THE  HERMIT  237 

went  around  half  dazed,  scarcely  knowing  what 
to  do.  I  had  my  faults,  but  God  knows  I  did 
not  deserve  that  kind  of  treatment.  I  was  hu- 
miliated and  angry  and  decided  that  I  would 
have  to  pull  out  of  the  old  city  and  get  away 
from  everybody.  I  made  arrangements  for  the 
proper  care  of  the  baby  and  then  booked  an  ocean 
passage  and  from  that  day  for  many  a  month  I 
spoke  to  no  one  unless  it  was  an  absolute  neces- 
sity. My  heart  was  hard  and  hot  against  every- 
body. I  felt  I  had  been  brutally  deceived  and 
that  I  would  trust  nobody  again.  It  doesn't 
matter  how  I  got  here,  but  here  I  am,  and  the 
world  to  me  has  seemed  about  as  cheerful  a  place 
as  a  hugh  graveyard.  God  only  knows  what  the 
end  of  it  will  be." 

With  a  sigh  of  despair,  the  heartsick  man 
pushed  his  chair  over  to  the  table,  and  resting  his 
head  on  his  forearms,  said,  bitterly,  "Oh,  my 
God,  but  I  am  sick  of  it  all !" 

Far  into  the  night  the  two  men  talked,  ex- 
changing such  confidences  as  men  only  do  in 
hours  of  darkness. 

Joseph  Woods  said  comparatively  little,  but 
let  the  disappointed  and  forsaken  man  fully  un- 
burden his  heavy  heart.  At  times  the  Hermit's 
language  was  bitter  and  hopeless.  "Life,"  he 
said,  "was  nothing  but  deception  and  torture 
and  heartbreak." 


238  MASTERED  MEN 

It  was  early  morning  before  he  suggested  re- 
tiring. When  he  did  so,  Joseph  Woods  said 
quietly,  "I  haven't  bothered  you  much  with  talk 
about  religion,  but  I'd  like  to  close  the  night  as 
we  always  did  at  home — with  reading  and 
prayer.  I  suppose  you  have  no  objection?"  He 
put  his  hand  to  his  vest  pocket  and  drew  out  his 
testament.  "My  heart  aches  for  you,  and  I  wish 
I  could  help  you,  but  the  burden  is  one  you  have 
to  carry  pretty  much  alone.  I  do  believe,  how- 
ever, that  this  little  book  holds  the  solution  of 
every  man's  problems." 

The  Hermit  made  no  reply  and  Joseph  Woods 
read  a  few  verses  from  several  different  books, 
closing  with  the  Master's  invitation  to  those  who 
would  find  rest  unto  their  souls.  The  brief 
prayer  that  followed  was  tender,  with  the  yearn- 
ing of  one  who  longed  to  see  his  troubled  fellow 
man  cast  all  his  care  upon  God. 

As  they  rose  to  their  feet  the  Hermit  held  out 
his  hand,  and  clasping  that  of  the  missionary 
merely  uttered  a  subdued  "Good  night."  Only 
two  quietly  spoken  words  and  a  handclasp,  but 
Joseph  Woods  knew  that  the  Master's  words  and 
a  human  petition  had  not  been  uttered  in  vain. 

As  he  left  the  lonely  dwelling  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  he  reminded  the  Hermit  that  they 
were  looking  forward  to  another  solo  on  the  com- 


THE  HERMIT  239 

ing  Sunday.  "I  don't  know — perhaps,"  was  all 
the  reply  he  received. 

The  following  Sabbath  when  he  entered  the 
schoolhouse  the  Hermit  was  standing  near  the 
door.  "Yes,  Til  sing,  just  this  once,"  he  whis- 
pered in  response  to  the  question  as  to  a  solo. 

To  this  day  the  people  of  Cameron's  Plain  talk 
of  the  Hermit's  solo  on  that  Sunday  afternoon. 
It  was  what  some  term  "only  a  gospel  hymn," 

"I  was  a  wandering  sheep, 
I  did  not  love  the  fold." 

but  as  the  song  continued  the  people  seemed  to 
see  the  weary  wanderings  of  a  wayward  soul,  and 
the  Hermit's  voice  had  in  it  a  pathos  if  not  a 
penitence  that  caused  Joseph  Woods  to  wipe 
away  tear  after  tear.  Never  had  he  seen  a  con- 
gregation so  affected  by  any  song,  and  ere  it 
closed  he  experienced  that  heaven-born  thrill  that 
comes  to  a  man  when  he  feels  a  soul  is  being 
re-born.  The  Hermit  came  to  the  last  stanza 
with  a  vocal  triumph  that  was  born  of  the  faith 
of  a  wanderer  who  had  turned  again  home. 
There  was  confidence  and  confession  as  the  clos- 
ing words  rang  out, 

"But  now  I  love  the  Shepards  voice, 
I  love,  I  love  the  fold." 

As  Joseph  Woods  shook  the  hands  of  the  de- 
parting congregation,  many  a  quiet  word  was 


240  MASTERED  MEN 

spoken  to  him  that  convinced  him  of  the  pcwer 
of  the  song.  When  the  Hermit  passed  out  he 
clasped  his  hand  and  in  a  low  voice  said  fer- 
vently, "God  bless  you.  You  preached  a  greater 
sermon  than  I  ever  could." 

Topics  of  conversation  were  not  numerous  in 
Cameron's  Plain,  and  all  that  week  the  Hermit's 
song  was  spoken  of  throughout  the  entire  dis- 
trict. Those  who  were  not  present  were  con- 
vinced something  wonderful  had  taken  place,  and 
in  anticipation  of  a  repetition  the  schoolhouse  on 
the  next  Sunday  was  packed  as  never  before. 
To  the  disappointment  of  all,  the  Hermit  was 
not  present. 

Joseph  Woods  planned  to  visit  him  ere  many 
days  had  passed,  for  he  felt  assured  that  the  song 
was  the  beginning  of  a  new  day  for  the  heart- 
sore  occupant  of  the  isolated  shack„ 

Calling  at  the  postoffice  for  his  weekly  mail 
on  the  following  day,  he  received  one  letter  in 
unfamiliar  handwriting.  It  was  from  a  town 
two  hundred  miles  away.    This  is  what  he  read: 

"Dear  Mr.  Woods,  by  when  you  receive 
this,  I  shall  be  several  hundred  miles  away 
and  it  is  unlikely  we  shall  ever  meet  again. 
It  is  not  easy  for  a  man  of  my  type  to  ac- 
knowledge his  folly,  but  you  have  helped  me 
to  see  life  differently.     Keep  at  your  job. 


THE  HERMIT  241 

You  are  putting  up  a  good  game.  I'd  like 
you  to  have  the  little  organ.  You  may  find 
use  for  it  in  your  meetings.  I  hated  to  leave 
it  behind,  for  it  was  my  only  friend  through 
many  a  lonely  day.  If  there  is  anything 
else  in  the  shack  that  you  can  use,  please 
take  it.  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  dispose 
of  the  other  things  as  you  see  best.  As  I 
wanted  to  slip  away  quietly,  I  am  giving  you 
this  trouble.  It  was  cowardly  and  cruel  of 
me  to  leave  my  baby  girl,  and  I  am  going 
back,  God  helping  me,  to  do  my  duty  as  a 
father — and  who  knows  but  Madge  may  yet 
return  and  complete  the  home  I  am  going  to 
make.  You  prayed  for  me  one  night,  will 
you  keep  it  up?  Please  remember  also 
Madge  and  the  little  girl. 

Yours  gratefully, 

H.  J.  S." 

Joseph  Woods  drove  to  the  Hermit's  shack 
early  the  following  morning.  Things  were  much 
as  on  his  former  visits  except  that  a  heap  of  ashes 
outside  showed  that  books  and  papers  had  been 
burned.  He  searched  in  vain  for  something  that 
would  reveal  the  Hermit's  identity.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  the  table  on  a  slip  of  paper  so  placed  as 
to  indicate  that  it  was  intended  for  his  perusal 
were  these  words : — 


24&  MASTERED  MEN 

"Though  I  forget  Him,  and  wander  away, 
Still  He  doth  love  me  wherever  I  stray. 
Back  to  his  dear  loving  arms  would  I  flee, 
When  I  remember  that  Jesus  loves  me." 

The  stanza  was  part  of  a  hymn  used  just  pre- 
ceding the  Hermit's  last  solo  in  the  schoolhouse. 
It  seemed  probable  that  its  appeal  had  reached 
the  Hermit's  heart  and  that  he  had  voiced  his 
response  in  the  never-to-be-forgotten  solo,  and 
subsequently  had  carried  out  his  decision  by  re- 
turning to  seek  those  for  whom  he  had  "sung, 
and  lived,  and  suffered." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    MAKING    OF    ROSS    K. 

The  general  Superintendent  of  Home  Missions 
had  visited  the  college  and  had  made  one  of  his 
heart-stirring  appeals  for  winter  supply  in  a  par- 
ticularly lonely  and  needy  district.  To  lose  a 
term  at  College  was  farthest  from  Henry 
Weaver's  desire,  but  after  the  old  Doctor's  ap- 
peal he  had  offered  to  do  it,  and  now  for  three 
days  he  had  been  travelling  with  intermingled 
hope  and  fear  to  take  up  the  work  to  which  he 
had  been  appointed.  At  midnight  he  was  due  to 
arrive  at  a  certain  insignificant  flag-station. 
Shortly  after  twelve  o'clock  the  brakeman  came 
through  the  car  to  tell  him  that  in  a  few  minutes 
the  train  would  be  at  Lorimo.  "We  may  not 
come  to  a  dead  stop,  'cause  it's  an  up-grade,  and 
the  engineer  likes  to  keep  going,  but  he'll  slow 
up  enough  for  you  to  get  off." 

The  two  men  stood  on  the  platform  as  the 
train  drew  near  to  a  station  that  seemed  little 
larger  than  a  piano-box.  "This  is  Lorimo. 
Can  you  make  the  jump?  There's  a  bit  of 
platform  right  here — better  get  a  move  on  and 

243 


244  MASTERED  MEN 

you'll  hit  it."  The  student  made  the  jump  in 
safety.  The  brakeman  swung  his  lantern  and  the 
engineer  answered  the  signal.  With  the  rear 
lights  of  the  train  rapidly  rushing  away  from 
him,  the  missionary  stood  in  the  lonely,  lifeless 
clearance,  never  having  felt  more  absolutely 
alone. 

A  moment  or  two  later  he  heard  the  jingle  of 
a  bell  and  then  a  voice  asking  if  he  was  the  new 
preacher.  "I  dasn't  leave  my  hoss:  guess  you 
can  make  for  here  all  right." 

After  a  cold  five-mile  drive  he  was  shown  his 
sleeping  quarters  in  a  pioneer's  shack.  In  the 
morning  he  awakened  from  a  deep  sleep  with 
agitated  feelings.  He  had  a  hazy  sort  of  idea 
that  something  fearful  was  taking  place.  There 
were  strange  noises  that  might  suggest  anything 
from  a  fire  to  a  murder.  Later  on  he  discovered 
it  was  the  regular  accompaniment  to  the  waking 
and  arising  of  the  ten  children.  His  new  board- 
ing house  presented  a  fine  opportunity  in  which 
to  begin  his  home  mission  work. 

The  little  folks  enjoyed  the  novelty  of  having 
a  preacher  board  with  them,  and  when  his  trunk 
arrived  the  following  day  the  unpacking  was  an 
occasion  of  wonderful  interest.  During  later 
days  there  was  much  inspection  of  his  posses- 
sions, especially  when  he  was  absent  on  his  visit- 
ing tours.    His  room  door  had  no  such  safeguard 


THE  MAKING  OF  ROSS  K.  245 

as  a  lock,  and  one  day  in  the  absence  of  the  father 
and  mother  he  returned  to  find  the  children 
greatly  enjoying  a  procession,  each  attired  in  one 
or  more  of  his  garments.  Many  of  his  illustrated 
books  still  contain  pencilled  additions  by  the  lit- 
tle artists  of  that  home. 

The  missionary's  territory  was  extensive  and 
involved  long  walks  and  drives.  Although  he 
tramped  continuously  it  was  nearly  three  months 
before  he  had  visited  all  the  settlers  under  his 
pastoral  care. 

On  one  occasion,  planning  to  visit  a  log  school- 
house  where  there  was  an  attendance  of  ten  or 
twelve  children  he  asked  a  lad  in  the  home  some 
questions  regarding  the  school.  "Is  your  teacher 
a  lady  or  a  gentleman?'  "Tain't  neither,"  was 
the  reply.  "It's  just  Margaret  Stewart."  Mar- 
garet happened  to  be  the  daughter  of  a  well- 
known  settler  and  so  could  not  qualify  for  any 
such  classification  as  the  missionary's  question 
suggested. 

It  was  in  the  school  mentioned  that  a  staunch 
old  Scotch  preacher  undertook  some  catechizing. 
The  missionary  had  not  been  "strong"  on  the 
Shorter  Catechism,  and  the  old  gentleman  dis- 
covered it  when  he  questioned  the  boys  and  girls, 
and  thereafter  administered  kindly  reproof. 
When  however  he  started  in  this  particular  school 
things  seemed  more  hopeful.    "I  wonder,"  he  be- 


246  MASTERED  MEN 

gan,  as  He  rubbed  his  hands  together,  "if  any 
little  boy  or  girl  knows  the  catechism*?"  There 
was  no  response,  so  he  continued.  "Well,  per- 
haps you  can  answer  the  first  question:  "What 
is  the  chief  end  of  man?"  A  dirty  hand  shot 
up  and  waved  for  his  attention.  "Ah!  here  is 
a  little  boy  who  knows:  stand  up  my  boy  and 
give  the  class  the  answer."  With  a  clear-voiced 
confidence  the  boy  answered,  "Please  sir,  it's  the 
head  end." 

No  Sunday  Schools  had  ever  been  held  until 
the  missionary's  coming,  and  the  settlers  being 
few  and  far  between  it  was  not  easy  to  get  them 
started. 

It  was  late  spring  before  the  one  was  com- 
menced to  which  Ross  K.  came.  Ross  and  his 
brother  never  missed  a  Sunday.  They  came  from 
a  very  poor  and  a  very  dirty  home  almost  four 
miles  from  the  tiny  building  where  the  service 
was  held.  The  missionary  became  greatly  in- 
terested in  these  two  attentive,  obedient,  respect- 
ful boys,  and  pitied  them  because  of  their  sur- 
roundings. 

About  three  months  before  he  was  to  return 
to  College  a  lady  living  in  an  Eastern  city  wrote 
asking  if  he  knew  of  any  poor  parents  who  would 
be  willing  to  send  their  boy  East  for  an  educa- 
tion. Having  no  children  of  their  own  she  and 
her  husband  would  give  such  a  boy  a  home  and 


THE  MAKING  OF  ROSS  K.  24M 

would  meet  all  the  financial  requirements.  At 
once  the  missionary's  thoughts  were  turned  to 
Ross  and  his  brother,  and  he  resolved  to  see  the 
parents  and  discuss  with  them  the  offer  he  had 
received.  Early  the  following  morning  he  started 
his  journey.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before 
he  reached  the  wretched  home.  The  father  had 
gone  to  the  village  and  would  not  likely  be  back 
until  dark. 

There  were  only  a  few  places  in  the  district 
where  the  student  felt  it  impossible  to  eat  or 
sleep  and  this  was  one  of  them.  He  therefore 
decided  that  he  could  not  wait  for  the  father's 
return,  but  must  talk  the  matter  over  with  the 
mother. 

There  were  seven  children  in  the  home — three 
of  them  seemed  almost  babies,  and  the  two  oldest 
were  the  boys  who  attended  the  Sunday  School. 
All  the  children  were  dirty  and  untidy  and  the 
mother  seemed  to  have  lost  heart  and  interest 
and  just  dragged  herself  languidly  along  from 
day  to  day.  "You  must  excuse  the  place,  sir," 
she  said,  as  she  wearily  kicked  into  a  corner  from 
various  parts  of  the  floor,  articles  of  clothing  that 
were  little  better  than  so  many  filthy  rags.  "I 
can't  keep  up  to  the  work  any  more.  What  with 
the  children,  and  the  chores,  and  the  cow,  and  me 
sick  most  of  the  time,  I  am  not  equal  to  it."    She 


248  MASTERED  MEN 

seated  herself  dejectedly  on  a  rough  bench  and 
rested  her  elbows  on  the  table. 

"If  it  wasn't  for  the  children  I'd  be  glad  to  die 
right  now.  You  think  it  is  wrong  of  me  to 
say  that  do  you"?  God  knows  it's  time  I  had  a 
rest  somewhere:  I'll  never  get  it  here!  Ten 
years!  O  God!  the  loneliness  of  most  of  them! 
I  married  in  the  East,"  then  in  a  low  and  bitter 
voice  she  said,  "I'm  one  of  those  who  married  in 
haste,  and  Heaven  knows  I've  repented  for  well 
nigh  ten  years.  I  thought  I  was  marrying  a  man 
— I  married  a  brute.  Maybe  you  know  his  na- 
tionality— anyhow  it  doesn't  matter.  It's  many 
a  day  since  I've  been  able  to  laugh.  Here  I  am 
buried  alive  fifteen  hundred  miles  from  any  rela- 
tive. I  just  couldn't  and  I  daren't  have  any  of 
my  people  come  out  here,  and  I  have  neither 
money  nor  clothing  to  get  East,  and  anyhow  I 
couldn't  leave  the  children.  I  saw  you  looking 
at  my  skirt  when  you  came  in.  Never  mind 
apologizing  about  it.    When  I  asked  him  to  buy 

me  just  one  dress,  he  said — 'Go  to ,  do  you 

think  I'm  made  of  money?'  The  only  way  I 
could  keep  clothes  was  to  cut  up  some  flour  sacks. 
Nobody  comes  near  me,  and  maybe  they're  not 
to  blame.  But  it's  hard  to  bear  all  the  same. 
You  see  he's  ugly  to  most  everybody,  and  people 
know  I  get  all  the  more  abuse  if  they  come 
around.     I  haven't  seen  even  a  neighbour  since 


THE  MAKING  OF  ROSS  K.  249 

the  baby  came  two  months  ago.  Mrs.  Ramsey- 
was  here  to  help  me  for  two  days — that's  all. 

"Oh,  I  know  I  shouldn't  be  telling  all  this,  but 
I  can't  help  it.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
kill  myself,  and  get  it  finished  quickly  instead  of 
this  slow  process.  But  then  sometimes  I  try  to 
think  that  things  will  get  better  some  day — 
maybe  when  the  children  grow  up — or  maybe  in 
another  world.  If  I  thought  this  was  all  my  life 
was  to  be  I  think  I  should  go  mad. 

"Maybe  you  wouldn't  think  it,  but  in  Ontario 
in  my  younger  days  I  was  active  in  home  mission- 
ary work.  Many  a  box  and  bale  I've  helped  pack 
for  the  'pioneer  fields.'  I  never  thought  I'd  be 
among  the  'needy  pioneers.'  The  missionaries 
we've  had  haven't  come  near  us  very  much. 
Maybe  the  neighbours  warn  them  to  stay  away, 
and  I  know  it's  hard  to  get  here  in  the  fall  or 
spring.  You  see  this  is  a  blind  road,  and  no  one 
but  him  and  the  children  uses  it  from  Martin's 
as  far  as  here." 

One  of  the  children  lying  on  the  floor  started 
crying  so  loudly  that  further  conversation  was 
impossible  for  a  few  minutes.  When  the  mother 
took  the  child  in  her  arms  the  missionary  saw 
the  cause  of  the  outcry.  The  little  one  was  re- 
pulsively scrofulous  and  the  face  badly  swollen 
by  abscesses.  Evidently  no  special  effort  had 
been  made  to  bring  relief.     "Last  night,"  said 


250  MASTERED  MEN 

the  mother,  "she  cried  something  awful  and  she 
must  have  had  a  lot  of  pain — it  seems  to  come 
on  suddenly — a  sort  of  throbbing,  then  sometimes 
she  shivers  quite  a  bit."  The  missionary's  heart 
was  touched  at  the  sight  of  the  poor  little  suf- 
ferer. He  promised  to  get  some  linseed-meal 
from  town  and  in  the  meantime  the  mother  was 
glad  to  follow  his  instructions  in  the  use  of  bran 
poultices.  "The  larger  abscess  seems  to  be  near 
pointing,"  said  the  missionary,  "and  needs  to  be 
lanced.  Could  you  not  get  her  to  the  doctor?" 
Tears  filled  the  mother's  eyes:  "Oh,  I'd  hate  to 
have  her  poor  little  cheek  cut;  and  then  I'm  not 
fit  to  go  anywhere,  sir,  and  he"  (meaning  her 
husband)  "wouldn't  take  her."  She  pressed  the 
dirty  suffering  child  nearer  to  her  shoulder  and 
with  mingled  bitterness  and  tenderness  said,  "My 
poor  little  Mary — she  has  had  a  hard  time  ever 
since  she  came." 

"But  something  must  be  done  to  relieve  the 
poor  child,"  was  the  reply.  "How  far  away  is 
the  nearest  doctor?" 

"Seventeen  miles,  sir." 

"I'll  see  him  to-night  or  in  the  morning,"  said 
the  missionary.  "Perhaps  he  has  some  calls  in 
this  direction  and  could  come  soon."  The 
mother  feared  the  husband's  wrath  if  any  ex- 
pense were  incurred,  but  the  missionary  whose 


THE  MAKING  OF  ROSS  K.  251 

"heart  was  a  good  deal  larger  than  his  pocketbook 
assured  her  that  he  would  look  after  that. 

Before  leaving,  he  referred  to  the  Eastern 
friends  who  wanted  the  opportunity  of  educat- 
ing a  worthy  boy  from  a  district  where  educa- 
tional advantages  were  few.  He  knew  no  boy 
who  was  more  deserving  than  Ross  and  his  con- 
duct and  interest  at  the  Sunday  School  had  made 
him  feel  there  was  a  hopeful  future  for  the  lad 
if  only  he  could  get  a  fair  chance.  Did  she  think 
Ross  would  be  willing  to  go,  and  would  they  be 
willing  to  let  him. 

The  very  thought  was  at  first  impossible. 
Burdened  as  she  was  and  overburdened  with  chil- 
dren as  a  stranger  might  think  her  to  be  the  loss 
of  one  could  not  be  considered,  and  yet,  as  the 
missionary  talked  she  asked  herself  what  chance 
the  boys  had  where  they  were.  Even  the  pain 
of  the  separation  should  and  must  be  borne  if  it 
would  give  Ross  a  fair  chance.  And  surely,  she 
told  herself,  she  could  suffer  still  a  little  more  if 
only  her  boy  could  be  given  an  opportunity  to 
be  properly  educated  amid  decent  surroundings. 
Perhaps  an  answer  could  be  given  to  the  mis- 
sionary the  next  time  he  called. 

The  shadows  of  evening  were  falling  when  the 
visitor  left  the  shack,  but  he  determined  to  get 
as  far  on  his  way  to  the  doctor's  as  possible. 
Travelling  however   was  necessarily   slow,    for 


252  MASTERED  MEN 

even  at  the  best  season  the  roads  were  rough. 
The  painworn  face  of  the  little  child  continued 
to  make  its  appeal  as  the  darkness  deepened  and 
he  decided  to  make  the  whole  journey  and  reach 
the  doctor  that  night.  When  he  arrived  the  doc- 
tor was  out,  but  an  hour  later  the  much  travelled 
buggy  drew  up  at  the  office  door.  Two  or  three 
patients  received  attention  first.  Then  the  doc- 
tor nodded  to  the  missionary  to  enter  the  con- 
sultation room.  Although  very  weary  he  greeted 
the  missionary  kindly  and  spoke  appreciatively  of 
the  mission  work  being  done  in  the  outlying  dis- 
tricts. Constant  acquaintance  with  suffering  had 
not  dulled  his  sympathy,  and  he  listened  pa- 
tiently to  the  missionary's  narrative,  of  the  condi- 
tion of  the  child  in  the  wretched  home  seventeen 
miles  away.  "Yes,  certainly,  I'll  go,  Mr.  Weaver, 
although  I'm  driven  nearly  to  death.  Still  I'll 
manage  it  somehow.  There  should  be  another 
doctor  in  this  district.  I've  tried  to  persuade 
someone  to  come  here,  but  it's  too  out-of-the-way 
for  most  of  the  young  fellows,  and  the  drives 
are  too  long  for  an  older  man.  It  seems  a  hard 
thing  to  admit,  but  several  people  who  died 
around  here  this  last  year  might  be  living  yet  if 
they  could  have  received  proper  medical  atten- 
tion. I  simply  couldn't  get  around  to  them  all. 
There  was  one  week  during  the  epidemic  that  I 
scarcely  closed  an  eye.    I  do  my  best,  but  we  all 


THE  MAKING  OF  ROSS  K.  253 

have  our  physical  limitations.  If  I  have  another 
fall  and  winter  like  the  last  I'll  be  beneath  the 
sod  myself. 

"How  would  you  like  to  drive  out  with  me 
to-morrow?  I've  several  calls  to  make,  but  we'll 
take  the  team  and  we  could  probably  get  out  to 
see  your  youngster  early  in  the  afternoon  and  get 
back  here  for  supper.  We'll  be  glad  to  have  you 
stay  here  to-night  and  we  can  get  a  fairly  early 
start  in  the  morning." 

About  mid-afternoon  on  the  following  day 
they  reached  the  home  of  the  Kazakoffs.  The 
father  hearing  of  their  coming  had  purposely  left 
the  family  alone.  The  sad-eyed  mother  could 
not  greet  them  gladly  for  she  was  timorous  and 
anxious  about  her  little  Mary.  The  doctor  ex- 
amined the  shrinking  child  as  the  mother  held 
her  on  her  knee.  He  stepped  back  to  his  case 
and  took  out  a  lance.  With  a  sigh  he  whispered 
to  the  missionary  "I  still  hate  to  cause  a  child 
pain,  but  that's  a  terrible  face,  and  it's  the  only 
thing  that  will  bring  quick  relief."  He  held  the 
child  a  moment  on  his  knee.  There  was  a  pierc- 
ing cry  from  the  little  one — a  cry  that  brought 
more  tears  to  the  mother's  eyes — and  the  doctor 
wiped  off  the  lanced  but  relieved  cheek,  and  with 
a  tenderness  that  was  beautiful  to  the  onlooking 
missionary,  he  helped  to  make  little  Mary  com- 
fortable.   With  a  doll  that  he  brought  from  his 


254  MASTERED  MEN 

pocket  and  placed  in  her  hand,  the  child  for  the 
first  time  in  many  days  fell  into  untroubled  sleep. 
After  a  few  words  of  direction  as  to  the  care  of 
Mary  and  some  kindly  enquiries  and  suggestions 
as  to  the  mother's  own  health,  the  doctor  pre- 
pared to  leave.  The  mother  hesitatingly  asked 
the  missionary  about  the  bill.  "That  is  settled, 
Mrs.  Kazakoff — there  is  no  need  to  think  of  it 
at  all.  What  about  Ross,"  he  continued.  "Did 
you  speak  to  his  father?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  did,  and  I  believe  he'll  let  him 
go" — then  with  something  approaching  a  sob, 
she  added,  "if  only  I  can  bring  myself  to  spare 
him." 

Several  visits  were  made  to  the  poor  and  dirty 
shack  during  the  next  six  weeks,  and  at  last  it 
was  all  arranged  that  little  Ross  should  go  East 
with  the  missionary  in  September. 

It  was  a  most  interesting  experience  for  the 
boy.  He  stood  with  the  missionary  at  the  flag 
station,  and  the  approaching  train  was  the  first 
he  had  ever  seen.  He  had  no  trunk  to  check,  a 
small  newspaper  parcel  containing  all  he  pos- 
sessed, except  the  shabby  suit  he  wore.  The 
journey  brought  increasing  wonder  to  the  little 
traveller.  He  had  never  before  seen  village,  town 
or  city;  so  that  gas,  electric  lights  and  street  cars 
were  alike  new  and  wonderful. 

At  last  they  reached  the  Eastern  city  which 


THE  MAKING  OF  ROSS  K.  255 

was  to  be  his  new  home.  His  benefactor  greeted 
him  with  such  a  sunshiny  welcome  that  the  mis- 
sionary felt  he  could  safely  leave  his  young  fel- 
low traveller  in  the  care  of  this  new-found  friend. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Ten  years  passed  by.  The  student  missionary, 
now  an  ordained  minister,  was  preaching  one 
Sabbath  in  an  Ontario  town.  At  the  close  of  the 
morning  service  a  young  man  came  to  the  plat- 
form and  asked,  "Do  you  remember  me?" 

"Your  face  is  somewhat  familiar,"  was  the 
reply,  "but  I  imagine  it  is  many  years  since  I 
saw  you  last." 

"My  name  is  Ross  K ."     The  minister 

could  scarcely  believe  that  the  little  palef  aced  lad 
of  the  pioneer  shack  had  developed  into  the  at- 
tractive young  man  who  stood  before  him. 

"So  you  know  Ross  do  you?"  asked  an  elder 
who  had  overheard  some  of  the  conversation. 
"Yes,  I  knew  him  many  years  ago." 

"Well,  sir,"  was  the  elder's  reply,  "we  are  all 
proud  of  Ross.  I  wish  we  had  many  more  like 
him.  He's  the  same  clean,  upright,  manly  fellow 
in  business  and  on  the  ballground  as  he  is  in  the 
church.  He's  as  straight  as  a  British  Columbia 
pine." 

When  the  minister  met  Ross  for  a  chat  the 
next  day,  they  talked  of  the  former  days  and  of 
the    Sunday    School    in    the    old    schoolhouse. 


256  MASTERED  MEN 

"What  an  influence  a  few  words  may  be  in  a 
boy's  life,  sir!  I  wonder  if  you  remember  the 
verses  we  used  to  learn  in  the  Sunday  School1? 
One  of  them  has  stuck  to  me  all  through  my  life. 
We  used  to  say  it  almost  every  Sunday — In  all 
thy  ways  acknowledge  Him,  and  He  shall  direct 
thy  paths.'  I  have  not  always  succeeded,  but  I 
have  tried  in  the  main  to  follow  that  counsel, 
and  it  has  made  me  whatever  of  good  I  am.  It 
was  a  great  thing  you  did  for  me  when  you  found 
me  the  friends  who  gave  me  an  education,  but 
after  all  you  did  a  greater  thing  when  you  taught 
me  the  principles  that  have  guided  me  in  the 
proper  use  of  it." 

The  preacher  to  whom  Ross  spoke  never  sees 
a  mij-ionary  envelope  and  never  makes  his  own 
contribution  without  feeling  that  such  a  gift  may 
be  helping  to  give  some  boy  like  Ross  his  God- 
intended  chance. 


THE  END 


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